The Dancing Symphony

Feeling the rhythm of the sea as the tide comes in, feeling the lull when the ocean pulls away and then comes in with more force. Even with the changing tides, the ocean does a strip tease with the shore line, coming in soft before coming in with force. Lying on the rocks, watching the rising and falling of the pale jade liquid against the rocks opposite, where the water is eroding and reshaping the stone a bit at a time, I redefine my concept of orgasm and recognize that sexual ecstasy can be long and slow, the subtlety of it lingering long after the coupling is over. No wonder so many people associate sexuality with the ocean. The sea catches me unawares and drenches me with a sneaker wave.

It is a dance and a symphony. Stepping on the rocks, I want to get closer to the point where two flows of the tide collide at the low point of the island of rocks interrupt the shore. The tides come in slow and easy and their embrace is just a peck on the lips. But then the current builds up and they collide in an explosion of foam. The love gets deeper as the tide coming in, crashing droplets of salty froth rising to meet me and sometimes above me. When it gets too much, I step away. My rubber boots - Extra Tuffs of course - doing a silent stomp against the rocks as I wave my arms, circle my hands, and twirl my fingers. A flamenco in the rhythm of the ocean, the waves booming against the rocks in a crescendo. Suddenly, I know for certain how dance came to be. People felt the rhythm of the world around them and started moving their bodies. I suspect music started in the same way, hearing the world around them and calling, clapping, stomping in response and in audio play. Wanting to play with the world around you and reveling when the world played back.

I'm fascinated watching the sea change. The music of the sea grows louder the further the tide comes in. The music of the ocean is louder, the rhythm faster, and the scenery only grows more devastating as time passes.

"This is fiercely beautiful," said Terina. And it is. A flock of pelicans fly over the waves - watery emeralds as they reach their crest and falling over in a crash of sea foam. The light is changing as the sun falls behind the clouds that are rolling past, sending beams of light across the sky. The sea is lavender slate at the horizon and I can see the waves rolling and crashing in the distance. The clouds don't touch the horizon, leaving the path clear for the sun to drop right in front of us. It's a ball of fire in the distance, making shadows of the birds flying across, the sea meets rock and shatters in silhouette, the drops of froth dark in the light of the sun behind them.

There are times I resent being dressed, wanting to feel the wind and take in the salt air through my skin. I compromise and take off my shirt and dance in my bra before the waves crashing in front of me until the sea gets aggressive and sends me back for warmth and safety. We're standing in a formation of rocks that make a bowl in the distance. The tide is coming in past us, running around the rocks on either side of us, the waves are crashing and rising high above us. But we are safe, in the back of the bowl, spits of ocean coming up the blowhole before us each time the sea rolls in.

We've been there for over five hours, bearing witness to the spectacle that happens at Yachats all the time. But it is especially beautiful on this day. Many others have come and gone, but we stayed. That piece of the Oregon Coast belonged to us for those few hours until we knew it was time to go. The sun has fallen and the sea is asserting its way to the shore to get in as far as that high tide will allow. We are exhausted and exhilarated as we leave, covered with salt. I can taste the ocean on my fingers.