I was noticing spirals. In a snail shell. 
In the sky. 
Spirals within spirals: a trinity. 
Then I saw lines crisscrossing, 
moving haphazardly. 
Was there a pattern to grasp on to? 
Or did randomness reign? 
Then came the circles: 
fringed, 
spherical, 
bursting like botanical fireworks. 
As humans we’re wired to search for meaning. 
As spiritual beings we inevitably find it: In geometry, the earth, the sky – God is always present.
Photos © Sondra Sula.
Take a walk with me by reading my most recent daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.
I was feeling a little down, but knew the headlands trail by Pudding Creek would be bursting with flowers 
Today the clouds are screaming for attention—as they should—for they are glorious. I’m so busy looking up, I keep forgetting to notice rocks and roots in my path. But that’s okay. I haven’t fallen.
I pass cliffs draped in ice plants. Pink and yellow blooms peep from fat, succulent leaves of emerald, red and plum. Beyond, the Pacific is roiling with white, sudsy surf. A storm appears to be brewing over the deep waters, but it will never reach land.
I never thought I’d be rushing down to Virgin Beach to photograph the nasal secretions of whales, but there I was, scouring the sand at the edge of the tide line.
I felt overwhelmed by day-to-day life and ashamed of that feeling since I have fewer responsibilities than the average person.
My head was filled with deadlines and chores and stress was gnawing my insides.
Just a few years ago in Aurora, Illinois, October meant flaming sugar maples, frost-edged grass and chartreuse Osage oranges clinging to barren branches. But along the Mendocino coast it means flaming ice plants licking the edges of bluffs.
Or dripping down ocean rocks like lava icing.
Pale praying mantises fly through the air, then land in fields as if gleaning.
Pines remain green. And acrobatic trunks, such as this one, endure each season as it passes, with little change.
I feel closest to the flowers that bloom, then create winged seeds to float away on westerly winds. For they hold the promise of adventure and new perspectives before taking root in unfamiliar soil, where they will grow and expand, becoming fresh versions of themselves.
As I moseyed down to the tidepools at MacKerricher State Park, I noted a young lovey-dovey couple pointing down at something near their feet. The old me would have been too shy to approach them, but the new me always puts curiosity over convention.
“What did you find?” I asked them.
We soon parted ways and I discovered another sea star crawling along a rock. Its bright orange back mesmerized me. It’s difficult to conceive of these cute critters as powerful predators. But they are. Just ask any snail.
I passed a group of pudgy globules with debris stuck to them: broken shells, pottery, pebbles and sea urchin spines. I soon realized they were closed-up sea anemones waiting for the tide to rise before reopening. What a unique disguise, I thought. Afterwards I conscientiously picked my way through the rocks, careful not to step on one inadvertently.
I spied a bit of brilliant orange in the distance. I gingerly tiptoed to the spot. A fat sea star stood vertically against a rock, its seductive textured surface so tempting to touch. But I knew better—human touch can harm them.
I tiptoed over the precarious rocks, some of which slid under my feet. I was being called siren-like to an orange dot in the distance, which proved to be a sponge. As I traversed the uneven terrain, I considered the story of Persephone ending up in Hades due to her attraction to a beautiful narcissus. But when I got closer to the sponge, I saw a small rock embraced and sheltered by a much larger rock and was instead reminded of God’s love.
Bits of abalone shell tucked into the stones looked like precious jewels. That’s how we appear to God, I thought.
A ginger-like seaweed resembled a rough hand sans finger. I thought of all those who have lost parts of their bodies through genetic anomalies, surgeries, accidents, war. God still sees everyone as whole.
A kelp bulb hung over a rock, its round purple-pink roots graduating to flat gold-olive streamers that twisted into a fat braid. No matter what our surface color is, we are intertwined and come from the same root.
A jellyfish washed up on the beach reminded me how transparent we really are: God can see right through our makeshift walls.
Another kelp lay on a bed of sand. It was dressed in bright fuchsia complemented by a burst of green ribbon. Yet it still couldn’t shake its dark shadow. We all must face our own shadows because they accompany us into The Light. Observe, befriend and accept your shadow without judgment and you will understand Mercy.
Finally, a lone stone nestled into the curve of a boulder’s shoulder. I remembered the many times I had rested in God the way a child rests upon a parent’s chest or a lover rests upon their beloved. Whenever we are weary we are invited to rest within the love of God.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 