The ocean air has always been my refuge. As a child it came through the open window at night, when it was especially quiet and I could hear the waves crashing in the early hours. And again as a young girl it became my place of quiet prayer; the kind without words, my soul simply reaching out to the vast nothingness of the empty shoreline, the water on rocks, hair whipping around and tears staining my face. The ocean shore and air are still my refuge now – in stress and exhaustion and confusion and heartbreak and wrestling and decision making and surrender. Almost as by some chemical reaction, the salty, windy air unearths the deepest parts of me still undone. It sinks into my pores and the length of my hair, so I’m damp with wild waves around my face. But in the deafening ocean silence something changes. It’s a place where clarity comes into view if only for a short while. The saline air is like a balm to the forgotten parts of myself. It awakens the frozen, eases the anxious, acknowledges the shadows. It reaches every nook and cranny of my heart and mind so I can be bathed in salt and light.