A Voice in the Silence
By Guy Cash Fleming
One spring day a few years ago I had a shocking yet wonderful experience on the beach. I had nothing planned, just a bicycle ride to a local beach to search for treasures.
A few weeks earlier, I had started experiencing abdominal pain. I tried to figure out what foods might be causing it, but that proved fruitless, so off I went to the doctor. After having some tests prescribed by a specialist, it was decided that I should have my gallbladder removed.
“Terrific,” I thought, “one less body part to worry about.”
As I was having a difficult time scheduling a day for surgery, I kept thinking “maybe it’ll get better.” Who was I kidding? I knew it wouldn’t get better, but I was and still am terrified of surgery. With no appointment for surgery, a bit of discomfort, and a need to be on the beach, I hopped on my e-bike and went to a beach about five minutes away.
After locking my bike, I took a slow walk towards the water. It sure was a beautiful day. The sun was as bright as ever, and there was a gentle breeze, which made the day a pleasure, even if I was a bit in pain.
When I was just about at the water, that’s when it happened. The wind stopped, as did everything else. I couldn’t hear the waves, birds, or the ringing in my ears from years of performing in a band.
For this millisecond of my life, I experienced complete silence. What replaced it was a booming voice that filled the air with the command, “Don’t put anything dead in your mouth.”
Yeah, I know those are some weird words to fill your head, but that’s what I heard. I stayed on the beach a little while longer, but looking for sea glass became secondary. I found this lovely sage-colored piece of sea glass shortly thereafter. I was still a bit rattled, so I called it a day, and went home.
When my wife asked if I was OK, I thought, “Thank God she loves me, because I’m about to tell her the most ridiculous thing.” Surprisingly, she didn’t call the local authorities to report a crazy man, but rather asked, so what are you gonna do?
When something this profound happens to a person, they should listen. My mama didn’t raise an idiot, so I listened. In fact, I believe it was a message from her. It wasn’t the first message she had imparted since her passing, and it probably won’t be the last.
From that day forward, I became a vegetarian. Within days, I noticed that the abdominal pain was decreasing. Within weeks, it was gone.
However, the best things started happening about a month or so after becoming a vegetarian. I began to relax a lot easier. Silly things that would normally upset me didn’t bother me a bit. Breathing became easier. I noticed I would be able to walk farther, and not be exhausted. My sleep became more restful. Surprisingly, occasional bad dreams stopped. But the greatest of all, my digestive system thanked me profusely.
Something also happened while beachcombing too. Seagulls didn’t scurry away from me but rather walked alongside me.
When I sit outside on my Adirondack chair (one of the most uncomfortable chairs in the world to sit a middle-aged body in), birds sometimes land on my chair, and on one occasion a squirrel hopped on the chair, paused for a second on my lap, then scurried down my leg. At times, I feel as though I’m in the middle of a Disney movie.
I’m no great philosopher, mystic, or wizard, but I’ve since wondered if animals smell our consumption of other animals. And if so, does it inspire fear?
Wait a minute, what does our diet have to do with sea glass? Well, I said that I slept better, which makes waking before the sun for low tide a pleasure. I became more passive with my approach to life—and beachcombing—which has made both more enjoyable. Lastly, my digestive problems ended, which for obvious reasons, makes a walk on the beach a journey in self-discovery and beach treasures, rather than a race to the nearest public bathroom in digestive distress.
If those three things don’t make your beachcombing adventure more enjoyable, I’m not sure what will.
This article appeared in Beachcombing Magazine Volume 43 July/August 2024.
