by Laura Hess

I’m sitting in my seat on an airplane heading for La Jolla and one of my personal retreats. I’m looking forward to it. I’m in need of rejuvenation right now. As I sip my club soda I’m reading a series of articles in the March, 1999 issue of New Age magazine about finding your spiritual path. The articles range from the "spiritual promiscuity" to buying into our own imperfection to cults and spiritual responsibility. As I read I am intellectually agreeing with the words. I have been spiritually promiscuous — growing up without a solid foundation in any religion. It wasn’t until I was nine years old that we began practicing any Jewish tradition in our home. My mom had converted when she married my father and we did more Christian observance than Jewish — Christmas, Easter and all.

Through the years, with friends and on my own, I’ve read and experienced many different philosophies. I’ve sought the guidance of gurus and rabbis, spiritual readers and psychics, lay-experts and teachers. What I know is that there is only one place to look for our spiritual truth — inside ourselves. I don’t mean there is no value in being a seeker. On the contrary, the more information you have, the more you are supported in your truths.

So I arrive in La Jolla wanting a spiritual experience. What I forgot is that life is a spiritual experience. I want sand dollars (see In Light Times, May, 1998), revelations and visitations from the other side. I check into my room and head right to the beach.

La Jolla isn’t like other beaches I’ve visited on my retreats. What I want and need is a long, sandy beach so I can walk for hours if I choose to. La Jolla is rocky cliffs with a few sandy spots at low tide. So I figure this is my opportunity to create my own spiritual experience. For the first two days I do that. I climb rocks, walk what sand there is and sit on benches for hours. I cry a lot (a common practice for the past year) and am amused by the antics of the sea lions, the kids and families strolling by together.

No revelations!

On my last full day in town I go to one of the long, sandy beaches. I walk for hours. It is perfect. I make my silent prayer. This time instead of asking for proof of my support of, and place in the universe, I acknowledge I already know this. Instead I ask for any message I need to hear right now. I have conversations with my mom — one sided as I know it. I play with the birds who are busy foraging for their breakfast. I enjoy the antics of kids unaffected by the temperature of the sea water as they tease the waves.

Okay. There’s that "T" word again. I can trust the Universe is right and perfect as it is. To trust myself though? That is a tall order. I don’t know how to do that. Except to trust the Universe means I must also trust myself, too. Aren’t I, after all, a part of the whole?

Two steps after this appeal I begin to see broken pieces of sand dollars. I smile to myself. No. I smile to myself and the Universe. “Thank you for showing me, yet again, the truth.” I do find an almost-perfect sand dollar. When I wash it in the water, though, it crumbles in my hand. Again I smile.

I leave the beach and feel a strong sense of peace. I still don’t have answers to the questions I seek solutions for. I am still at peace. I find the conversation with the cab driver more relaxed on the return to La Jolla — he is the same driver I had earlier. I return to my room without a strong need to go to the shore. Instead, I return to my room and enjoy the quiet and solitude that is there.