Of Sea Salt

Pour me back in the bottle, where the sea meets the sun
Where the bones and their rattle don’t mean anything to no one
I had a swing when my salt was my own
I’d my teeth bared for battle, til love’s loss made me dull,
It made me dull
--from “Teeth” by Lisa Hannigan




I changed my blog title to “Sea Salt” because of this song. I guess thematically, the lyrics don’t necessarily reflect my current situation except for sea images and references. But this song made me think about my own salt. No one really refers to themselves—their self-ownership or self-organism—as their own salt. But I like it. We’re referenced as the salt of the earth, so it’s totally relevant.
It’s funny that I ended up here. Of all the places I’d hoped I would go—(anywhere in Africa or the Middle East, perhaps Eastern Europe,) I landed on a Pacific island. And not only that, but one of the two Pacific islands that still has a strong cultural ownership. A country with beautiful scenery that—if you ignore houses and livestock in the road—doesn’t seem third world.
Other Peace Corps Volunteers around the world call us the Beach Corps, which seems reasonable but is also a bit too judgmental for me. And of all the beautiful creations on this earth, the beach is probably what I appreciate the least. I hold a great respect for the sea. It scares me to no end—all those mysteries hidden in the deep, bluey hues. But mountains, careening hills, luscious valleys and vast farms—that’s my happy place. Cold weather? Love it (along with boots, winter jackets, sweaters, scarves, fun stocking caps, ice skating, the holidays, etc.) And I’m nearing one year of completed service with an intense sunburn, coconut and mango trees in my yard, and two thin “sweatshirts” in my closet. (For those cold nights of 60 degrees.)
So instead of pining for the relief of a hot coffee mug to toast my frozen hands, I’ve decided to own this idea of my own salt. And what better metaphor than the sea—that depthless, scary, and intimidatingly beautiful symbol—to pair it with finding more parts of myself.
It’s really helped me develop my feelings of the sea to more than just respect. I’m fond of it now. The sound, the feel of when it hits the reef and forms pearls around my calves. The hastiness of the rising tide, the little mysteries (like sea cucumbers, crabs, soggy diapers, etc.) that drift to shore. The uplifting sea breeze that makes me take a large, relaxing deep breath to offer every ounce of worry, frustration, anxiety, stress, self-doubt to that roaring hush of air and sea.
I don’t feel at home in the sea—I’m not a huge swimmer and often feel uneasy to be among depths I can’t touch—but I feel cozy and at home in my own skin as I witness all the power in each wavey punch or in every little ripple along the surface. It’s a nice little spiritual haven.

**Thought I'd mix up the posts a bit. :)