I’m sitting here at Doran Beach with my eyes closed, deep in meditation and listening to the waves in stereo. In the absence of sight, sound is all I have so the sounds of the waves become intensified. I’m hearing four distinctive sounds. First there’s a woosh as the wave begins to break, then a pronounced crash when it hits the shore, followed by a sizzle and finally a hiss, as what remains of the wave retreats back to the sea. No two waves sound alike. The larger the wave, the louder the woosh, crash, sizzle, hiss. However, I use these onomatopoetic words just as a loose frame of reference as there are endless variations in a wave’s tone, pitch and volume. Occasionally there will be no wave  breaking at all. The silence is brief but profound as I anticipate the arrival of the next set.

After listening to waves for a while, these sounds meld into a soothing type of white noise. I get lulled into a dream state and my mind begins to drift. I wonder, as a fetus inside my mother, was this the sound I heard? The sound of waves is such a primal sound. The Pacific Ocean existed eons before there were beings alive who could hear its voice. It will exist long after we’re gone.