Surfing Vancouver Island  

Man, was that you?  

Man, was that you?

Why am I out here surfing? This question comes to me and is answered sitting in the line-up.

I like the crispness of the winter air, and the warm security of my wetsuit. I love the detachment from my everyday life that I feel out on the ocean. The sweet salt breeze empties my head and the camaraderie of surfers and sealions fill it up again. I like the lift and drop of the swell, and the tremendous connection I feel to the entire planet, like I am within the bloodstream of the world. When I first came to the open ocean as a young man it was at this exact beach. We walked up by the dunes, over there, dropped our laundry and played in the shoreline soup till we turned purple. Resting and warming in the sun afterwards, I stared out at the break (not knowing it was a surfing break) and drained my mind into it. Long into the night I stared out at the ocean. Long white ghosts, one after the other, that crashed as they disappeared before me. She crept into my purged consciousness and set her anchors there. I felt the world shrink. My new love had fingers that reached my entire planet earth ........... that should have been called water. Surfing is just one of many excuses I have to visit my lover, my mother, my ocean.

I snap back to an adrenaline surge as I focus on the welling shadow way outside. "Why am I out here surfing?" Again the question comes to me, and seems more reproachful this time. The answer comes from the face of the growing mountain I am racing to meet. I grab armfuls of water and throw them behind me. My blood pounds under the neck seal and if I had the moment I might consider puking. This terrible and wonderful force before me begins to explode down the line and I think that I may make the shoulder.

The sun disappears and there is only this rising wall, and me. All grows quiet. The lip throws out and I stare into the tube as it passes to my right. I slip over the last moment of the shoulder and back into the sunshine. I feel like the Great Architect Himself has beckoned me out to play. He has commanded my complete attention and focus. He has brought me to this meditative, fluid state that dissolves all earthly concerns.

The offshore wind showers me with spray and I turn to join the next wave for the few final seconds of it's journey. From what far off place has it come to meet me at the edge of the continent? In the scope of the ocean, this wave is an infinitesimally small portion of the whole. To me it is a living monolith that I caress with my hand as I rocket down the line. It cradles and coddles me, and treats me, as the fragile creature that is man. I float and soar on it's face.

If flight is this sweet, give me wings.
I played with the planet today ........... or maybe it was God.









advertisement | site map | weather | classifieds | email

appropriate listings and links for businesses, organizations, and individuals are free.
Advertising on this website

thanks for visiting

Copyright © 1997-2019 All rights reserved. | Terms of Use