Prompt Entry #3: Sunset Cliffs

In San Diego, California, a peninsula points into the Pacific Ocean. That area within San Diego is known as Point Loma, and I went to college at Point Loma Nazarene University (PLNU), a school embracing the sea. Sunset Cliffs provide the meeting point between land and sea. Sidewalks neatly run alongside the coastline, while dusty walking trails on the cliffs allow viewers to seek the very edge of the meeting point. The cliffs continued on PLNU's property. I could hike down a steep hill to pass two dormitories to find paths winding through the sandy cliffs that hung over the dark gray-blue waters. If the days were hot, the salty breeze rarely failed to air condition my body and tangle my hair.

During my time at Point Loma, sections of Sunset Cliffs tumbled into the ocean. After a chunk of land crumbled away, yellow tape would stretch in a large triangle across the open air and the surrounding danger zone. My favorite spot, an area below Young Hall on PLNU's campus, remained strong during my four years in San Diego. When I first walked down to that spot with a group of people touring the campus, I stood in appreciation of the beauty, but I had no idea how much healing and peace that spot would bring me in the upcoming years.

There were days when homework piles grew and deadlines drew near. The stress mounted, and I would find myself seeking the cliffs. The dust would swirl around my feet as I left footprints in the dirt. The ocean roared and splashed against the rocks. I sat on the edge of the cliffs and let my feet dangle into air. The waves drew back only to rush forward again and slap the cliff face below me. A handful of surfers typically dotted the ocean, but other than their black silhouettes and the occasional gulls, it was just the reddish brown cliffs and the water, sometimes calm and blue, sometimes angry and dark.

Alcoholism raged in my immediate family back in Sacramento. My step-dad was diagnosed with colon cancer. My mom's depression and drinking problems mounted. My phone started ringing every night with more bad news and more problems. Family members called me with differing opinions. They all wanted me to listen to their side of the story. They wanted me to take action. How? What was I supposed to do from San Diego? What did they expect? The calls, the ongoing problems, ate at me like parasites. They fed on my energy, patience, and time.

I found the ocean. The air surrounding my dangling legs gave me freedom from the burdens pressing heavily on my heart. The salty breeze on my face was a dash of relief. The dust covered my hands and jeans in a chalky layer. The waves were alive. They carried emotion. I felt my emotion in them. When the waters churned angrily, spitting white foam into the air, I felt my own anger stir and spit. The thunderous crash of wave against rock reminded me how powerless I was sitting on the edge of a cliff over a mighty ocean. Gulls would shriek and land near me. They never seemed to fear me. I was always drawn to the little orange spot on their beaks.

When I left the cliffs, I always felt better. The waves  receded, pulling away after slapping the cliffs. My stress, sadness, and anger pulled away with the waters. Once I reached my apartment, my ringing phone no longer threatened or annoyed me.

"How are you doing, Mom? How is Mark?" I was sincere. My mom answered, and her emotions were audible. She, like the waves, could be calm and mellow. She was, at times, hopeful and healing. Other times, she churned and bubbled inside, and she didn't know how to escape other than the method she was addicted to.

She pulled back.
She crashed forward.
She pulled back.
She crashed forward.

Sometimes, my roommate and close friend would join me on the walk from our apartment to the cliffs, and we would sit silently over the water, each respecting one another's time connecting to the land and sea. I love those cliffs. They were a close friend, and I miss them.