The ocean knows pt. 2.

While living in Ecuador I became acquainted to an age-old belief held dear by the locals – the sea, they say, possesses healing powers that perform wonders on the body and soul. It did not take much convincing for me to buy-in; after all, there is no better place to dive in for a pauper with fifty mosquito bites sustained from the night before. I soon found myself tumbling in the waves of Manglaralto and Montanita on a daily basis, during lunch breaks and early evenings; I was dark as a piece of pollo a la brasa, the honey-dripped kind whenever I jumped out of the water.

As I paid daily pilgrimages to the ocean, I began to realize its mythical powers not only on my inflamed skin, but also on my psyche and creaking back. I felt rejuvenated with a crystal clear mind, and was pain free for those few months residing por la costa. It made sense! A coastline frequented by ballenas y dolfines has to be blessed; the creatures know. They receive dailylimpiezas performed by nature.

Fast forward to 2009 in Venice, CA. Different geography, but with the same stupendous Pacific Ocean and associated routines. The sea has evolved into my spiritual counselor and trusted confidant; through observations of recurring low and high tides, and the amorphous colours and shapes of currents, I begin to comprehend the ever-changing and cyclical ways of life. The seemingly untiable knots in my head start to loosen as I stare at the wavering sheet of blue; the rise and fall of kingdoms, ascent and decay of great urban forms, financial booms and busts, abstruse human dynamics and other archaic conundrums reveal themselves in predictable patterns, as fitting pieces of an infinite puzzle.

If you have not tried letting out your dissatisfactions and unease in the eye of a wave, give it a go – the Chinese and other ancient cultures valued moving bodies of water for insightful reasons. Here is the catch: let us work together to keep this wholesome mentor clean and accessible to all.

The shoreline in Olon, Ecuador.

The ocean knows.

As many complaints as I have about Los Angeles and its imperfections, they melt away the instant I step on its portion of the pacific coastline during the early evening hours. The scenic composition of the famed Santa Monica State Beach has long casted its spell on veteran Angelinos and fresh-faced tourists alike, and inspired dozens of epic and small-time Hollywood cinematic creations. With the setting evening sun caressing my face with radiant-yet-gentle rays of gold, and amorous, balmy sea breezes blessing my sense of smell and skin, I begin to comprehend this mystical obsession that believers have for Los Angeles: it is not about the movie industry, it is not about Disneyland. It is the vast and sandy beaches that look like ribbons of gold in aerial maps, and the Ocean that lies contiguous to them. The beaches inspired the inception of the movie kingdom, and they inspired Mickey to bring his “happily ever after” friends here.

I curse at the coastline as I ride my bike down the Melvin Barnes trail, “how dare you lay your claims on me when I am determined to leave this patchworked city of dichotomy!” Like those who tried to brave the path before me and struggled, I am entranced, hooked and entangled in a web of sand that feigns the tender loving care expressed by a mother’s embrace.

My will to leave Los Angeles remains firm and unshakable, but I will leave with a mark in my memory bank, one left by the oh so sweet shoreline of Southern California.

A California special.