to let go and give in.
I let go. And give in. To the physics and the power of the waves and the vast ocean around them, I on my board in the midst. It’s not so much a means of forgetting, of leaving things behind as it is a means of meditation, of prayer. It is something to believe in, something real, tangible. Not just some ancient collection of fairy stories and parables. I am one with nature in the water, never ending. One with its force and one with myself – bobbing on my board, waiting, cresting through the barrel and over the top, or tumbling beneath, pulled under the water and at its mercy. Nature as God. Nature is God. Communion with a force more powerful than I, a force that bestows upon me its energy, that bestows upon me my sense of life and of living.
Alive, it propels me forward, forward, forward – like love, sadness, joy, or the Muse. I let her take me. But there is a limit and therein lies the rub, if you will. I cannot completely give in. I must use my skill, my experience, the wisdom of the thousand I’ve ridden before to navigate the present, the moment, the wave that is under me now. It is difficult to tread that line, at times, that tension I must negotiate. And at times I don’t.
There are times when I fall, and am pulled under, distracted by my thoughts, my feelings, and the wreckage of my past. After, I emerge, battered and bruised, and I trudge my way onto the shore. I turn and look at the churning ocean before me. A very real part of me resists returning to try again, to ride once again, triumphant.
That feeling, though. It beckons me back, beckons me back. The beauty, that fire, the elevation of my very being, my soul, the feelings I can never resist. My bruises, my wounds will always heal, I know. The questions, the what if I hads, and lost opportunities – they’ll follow me, haunt me forever. They are the things I’ll live to regret.
So I return. To let go. And give in.