The Language of Waves

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.