La vora del mar

On edges, surrender, and what the Mediterranean keeps teaching me

Hands in the sand.

The smell of sun lotion.

The occasional goosebumps from the sun hitting your skin.

The juice of a peach mixing with the sea salt on your lips.

I was born in July near Barcelona. A Mediterranean summer kid.

The sun and the sea are my godparents.

They tell me that home is not in a place I can show you on Google Maps, but in the transition between shades of blue on the horizon.

They remind me that the glitter they create when they touch each other is the same that makes my eyes shine when I experience beauty.

They show me that trust can be practiced when I walk into the water, each step saying ‘I see you’, ‘I’m going full in’.

And faith is lying horizontally to float and keeping my ears submerged so I can hear the sea whisper ‘I have your back’.

“Come”, I heard them say, waking up from a nap in my apartment in Berlin, hours after having arrived back in Europe from Nigeria.

“Now? We saw each other just a couple of months ago in Cyprus,” I said.

“Come”.

You don’t question the Mediterranean sun and sea when they call you.

Writing these lines from the north coast of Barcelona, after catching up with them this Sunday afternoon, I’m starting to understand why I had to be here now.

The sun and the sea infused life wisdom in the perpetual movement of the water.

El vaivén de las olas, as we say in Spanish. The coming and going of the waves.
Singing the invitation:

Go to the edge.
Surrender.
Go to the edge.
Surrender.
Go to the edge.
Surrender.

And the edge always changes. The shore is not a clear, static line.
Its location, depth, intensity and shape vary with each wave.

What happens if you draw it on the sand? The sea will laugh at you trying to capture it.

What we call in Catalan la vora del mar is a spectrum.
Impermanent by definition, a margin that refuses to be contained, the liminal space that holds the constant conversation between the sea and the land.

The sea is always meeting her edges. Going a bit further at times, a bit closer at others. With fierce determination at times, with calm intention at others. Whatever that looks like, reaching for the edge with every single wave.

To then recede.
Surrender.
Let go.

As the wave returns to the sea, the body of water hugs back the brave explorer. How the wave did in her journey to the edge is irrelevant: she did it, and now she’s back. Coming back home, maybe even bringing shells, pebbles and other gifts from the shore.

Time to integrate, to return to wholeness, to rest and get ready for the next trip to the edge.

Lying on my towel, the sun warming my skin, while the sea kept singing her song, I understood it was time to stop looking at the shore from the distance and go meet the edge.