Beer Beach

I wonder if you have somewhere you take yourself when you have to get away for a change of scenery?

There are holiday destinations, of course, but I’m thinking more of being away for a few hours, a day, or maybe two days.

One of mine is Beer Beach, in Devon. I’m reluctant to shout its praises too much in case my post goes ‘viral’, not that I expect it will, and the beach becomes popular as a result. Beer beach is a steeply sloping pebble beach, which reduces the number of children and adults looking for an equally lovely and relatively safe sandy beach day out. You’re out of your depth after a few feet into the water.

I was there last week, on Friday, a hot, apply your suncream sort of day, there was virtually no wind, and the waves were little more than ripples. The water, however, was….fffreezing, but if one endures the first ten minutes of bone-chilling pain, swimming becomes worthwhile.

At the back of the beach are two cafes, so one drops into a rhythm of find your spot, swim, coffee & cake or lunch, sunbathe, read/write, swim, sunbathe, tea & scones, home, or some similar combination.

I didn’t go to Beer with the express intention of writing. I went to relax and finish reading Joe Marler – Loose Head (a great book for all rugby fans out there), but it’s funny when a thought, or something you observe ‘siezes you’ and before you know what’s happening you have the seed from which a poem, a blog, a story seems to grow. That happened on Friday. It’s happened there before. 

A good chunk of my writing is deliberate and almost workmanlike, a routine, a set time, and at home at a desk…but inspiration is an unruly guest who gate-crashes wherever you happen to be…and aren’t we thankful it does?

So, yes, this post is to encourage anyone who’s perhaps stuck in a rut, or too tired to write, or whose routine is driving them mad, to up sticks and go…maybe not to Beer…but wherever works for you. Do it!

But also, the Spirit-spirit communion that, as believers, we are invited into is at play in such moments; of this I am sure. I started writing a poem whilst the sun poured down…all about those around me on the beach, but then the meditation somehow ‘changed up a gear’ and the stones on the beach became priests hearing the confessions of countless individuals who’s sat on the beach or walked along the water’s edge over the centuries and, confessions heard, pouring out their compassion as the autumn rains.

I’m pretty sure, had I stayed at home and slogged away, I wouldn’t have had the same moment of inspiration and certainly would not have thought of pebbles on a beach as confessional priests.

If this meagre post serves to unstick you from a rut or fruitless routine, I’d love to hear about that.

And, if you’d like to check out whether a day in the sun addled my brain, or was a whisper from the Spirit, the poem, The Stones Cry Out can be found on my blog www.unlessaseed.com