A Whale of a Time.

So Owen and I are now making paddling a weekly ritual. Yesterday was gorgeous. When we arrived at Fisherman's Cove the fog had just burnt off, giving way to warm hazy sun and almost no wind to speak of.

Most days we paddle out we try to make it to a cropping of rocks called "seal rock". This is where all the seals and sea lions congregate to soak in the ocean infused sun light. This day started like many others, a trek to say hi to the seals then a quick pit stop to check out the multi-colored starfish (which are visible only at low tide). After seeing the starfish plastered rocks Owen declared it was time to go check out the crabs back at shore. So we started to paddle back south.

As we paddled south Owen suddenly says "Mama, I want to see the whales now". I explained to him that I really couldn't tell Mother Nature what to do, so I wasn't sure we would be able to see them. Literally two minutes later I see something break the surface about 7 feet from our board. I say "hey O, there's another seal I think". Then a moment later the whole darn back of a grey whale lifts out of the ocean like a submarine resurfacing from the depths of the big blue.

I have to be honest, I was absolutely shocked. There was a split second when I almost dropped my paddle and picked up Owen. Good thing I caught myself in that moment of instinct because if I had snatched up Owen on that tipsy board, we may have had a MUCH closer encounter with these massive animals.

Of course Owen was stoked, so we turned back up wind to follow them on their journey north. There were two adults and then a juvenile that hugged the right side of it's mom belly as they cruised the shoreline for lunch. After heading around seal rock they tucked into a smaller cove to feed. It was low tide and I am still in awe of how close they were to shore! We hung outside the cove giving them space to do their thing. When they headed back out towards the next cove, we were (by accident) right in their trajectory. I can't explain the feeling inside when two huge whale noses rise up right in front of your board. It was magical. We could see right into their very tiny black eyes and they totally checked us out before they dove right underneath the board. That was the only time I really did get a little nervous, but I totally held it in and kept affirming to Owen that it was exciting and fun, nothing to worry about. I wanted to make sure he stayed curious and happy, rather than scared. Even with that close brush he still wanted to stay. He kept saying "Mama, I think they're gonna come out onnnnne mooooore time".

All in all, I think we spent about 40 minutes jocking around them trying to stay a respectful distance away, but close enough to get a good look! Yesterday was a gift for me and Owen. As we paddled back to shore I told Owen that we needed to thank Mother Nature for bringing the whales to visit us. Without any hesitation Owen raised his head to the sky and yelled "THANK YOU MOTHER NATURE!!!".

My heart is full.

Love,
Erin

The Tides they are a changing.

It's funny. Sometime these little precise phrases come to my mind right before bed. Usually they stick with me as my theme for yoga classes that week, sometimes they linger for contemplation for much longer. A few nights ago this was the phrase that started to grow buds inside my heart/head.

"Impermanence is a blessing".

As a culture (myself included) we love the idea of change except when we want something to stay put or the same. Looks, relationship ring a bell? There is a baby-bird-falling-out-of-the-nest kinda of feeling that arises when the change happens suddenly and without our approval. Things have been shifting radically within my yoga community and this dramatic change has birthed some of the greatest beauty to date. At the same time it caused a great deal of sadness and discomfort. Luckily, just like high tide, the sadness and hurt can only hang around for so long. What I've found though, is that as the sadness pulls back into the ocean of potential, the beauty remains.

The wildly beautiful and sometimes (read often) scary part is that we don't get to choose a lot of the time. Nature, life has her way with us and that is that. We can be dragged along kicking and screaming against the change or we can welcome it with open arms knowing that the alternative of life being a "static thing" would be very boring.

How do we find comfort in a world that is always changing? Knowing that there may be a Tsunami size wave behind a nice 3-4 footer. To be honest, I have had some very decent size swells reach my shore lately. For me, in the constant shifting of life and all it's relationships, it's what's inside. It on many days feels like a warm ember of a bonfire totally protected from the damp ocean breeze. Things grow, things die, day comes, night falls..the ember inside is still there unaffected. If can be a refuge of comfort and support, if we let it.

Everyday I go to our cove to paddle out, the shore looks different. Sometimes a little and sometimes a  lot. I welcome the change, that change is easy to embrace. Mother Nature shape shifting herself in those subtle ways. My hope is to find that ease and welcome for the changes that are unexpected or uncomfortable.

Just like doing a headstand on a paddle board. It's just gonna take more practice.

With Love,
Erin