Personal Essay: What We Leave Behind

One summer, I served as a mentor for children at a Buddhist summer camp. On many afternoons we took the children, who were mostly eight to fourteen years old, to the beach.

One day, after consistent begging from the children, the mentors allowed them to get on the watery parts where the ocean touched the sand. Laughing, they jumped down immediately to run, dig, build and splash.

I, however, stood on a rocky walkway looking down at the beach, and watched as they went. The beach, now, was a shallow layer of wet, sticky sand. The water had retreated, resting with only tiny ripples here and there. Tiny crabs scuttled along the rocky slope leading down, and bits of leftover plants lay on the sand.

As the children flocked on the sand, messy noise covered the sound of ocean waves and soft wind. They ran, splashing water, digging holes, building forts, and throwing sand. Others merely walked along and enjoyed the ocean. A few tried to walk to the deeper waters, but were stopped by the mentors before they went too far.

The distant, unmoving ocean remained oblivious to the children who invaded its territory—its waves didn’t change, despite the occasional ripple sent out by sand thrown or feet kicked. In contrast, the sand was now filled with messy footprints, small mounds, and patches of ripped sand.

At some point, our leader called for all the kids to line up in their groups and leave. Then whoosh! I watched as the wave of children left just as quickly as they had come, like ants evacuating after getting their food.

Before we left, I took another look back at where we had just been. The uneven sand contrasted with the smooth floor I saw before; on the rocks, the crabs seemed to have disappeared, scared of the creatures that had just invaded their home. The leftover plants were but the decoration of such castles, forts, and holes. The ocean was the same as ever. Now, even the occasional ripple was gone, replaced by a large, still, and unfeeling body which rested peacefully.

The next day, we came back to the beach; it was, again, a smooth layer of sand with the occasional leaf, and crabs scuttling among the rocks.

Perhaps the water does move.