A Screamer

Yelling. Screaming. Whatever you want to call it, I've never been a big fan of it. I try not to do it...ever.

Except occasionally at the ocean, when the wind is blowing and the waves are breaking and no one can hear what I'm saying.

There, with the waves pushing and pulling me, I've screamed at situations that cannot be changed, or at people who were not present because screaming at them in person would be unacceptable. I've yelled at my own stupidity. I've cried out to God in pain/anger/frustration with a complete lack of understanding at what my life is supposed to mean.

Standing with the sand being pulled from under my feet by the receding waves, shivering not just with the coldness of the water, but also with emotion, at last I come to my senses and realize that like those waves, screaming and yelling pulls and tugs at all the firm footing of faith and strong relationships. Unburdened, I've stood a  bit longer so that the salty tears I've cried are indistinguishable from the water splashed on me by the healing ocean.

I love the ocean, and not just because I can scream without anyone hearing. I feel like it's a part of me. When I watch it, I feel like it is speaking to my soul. It is a deep and powerful thing, and more healing than any screaming could ever be.