The Unclad Soul

For the past three summers, my daughter Ingrid and I and her family, have gone to the beach in Destin, Florida. This summer, because of scheduling conflicts and other special family events, we didn’t get to go. And I have to say, I miss the ocean. One of the first things I do when I get there is to walk out into the clear emerald water and stare out over the horizon. The scene is vast and mesmerizing. What is out there, far beyond what I can see? I wonder. Giant ships sail slowly by in the distance. A speed boat will move across the waves now and then, far enough out you can barely see the people on deck. Seagulls fill the sky and the noise they make is not at all disturbing but adds to the beauty in front of me. They seem to be singing as they dip toward the beach in search of food. But on farther out, past any sight of boats or ships, the ocean remains, enormous and limitless, disappearing from view. Loren Eisley, the brilliant anthropologist, once said, “If the