Liquid Joy

The gravel is sharp and painful under the bare soles of our feet as we enter the jungle corridor to the ocean. I am wishing my reach was just an inch longer to comfortably tuck the 8 foot surf board under my arm. On land, I am a little too little to carry this board. I glance only breifly at the sharp thorned branches of the Intimacy trees and walk on, trusting my timid steps will be safe from harm. Under the last tree we pass, a mother and her daughter sit with a dark monkey looking down at them. My steps quicken as the cooridor opens to the expanse of the sea.

The board that was so cumbersome and awkward on land instantly becomes part of me in the ocean. I put on its leash and we stroll into the waist high water. The waves have a high frequency but are smaller than during my thrashing this morning. Tim and I join a dozen other surfers walking our boards out in the ocean. The farther out we walk, the longer of a ride we will have back to the shore. There are too many waves to paddle through, so I form my own style of gripping the board, pushing down on the side of it to stabalize as a wave hits, breathing out slowly so that the water that crashes repeately over my head does not enter my lungs. Its a silly game: five steps forward and a wave pushes me back three, my toes trailing in the sand like anchors, fighing the tide.

Then, there is a break, and no waves are forming to come towards me and I know it is time. I climb on and begin to paddle forward. The sound of rushing water grows louder behind me as a new wave approaches and chooses to pick me up and take me with it. Suddenly, I have speed. I am zooming along the top of a foam pile. Seizing the opportunity, I pop up, and with arms out, regain balance. And I fly forward, no longer fighting the waves but joining them. Squealing with laughter at the mix of speed and delight, I glance over to see Tim sharing the experience. Then the shore approaches, the shallows rise up and I hop off only to turn around and start the game all over again.

At one point, I wondered what I was doing out there. I was watching these tan boys with shoulder length hair and tv worthy abs ride these big waves cresting over thier heads. They zoomed right at me, right by me. It was surreal, like being in a surf movie. One man jumped off the very top of a wave, his board arching up into the air, out of control and at dangerous speed. Others dove down to avoid being hit when it sliced into the sea. I reminded myself that this was one of those sports where people of all skill levels could be out on the same day and still have fun. And up until that moment of consciousness, I really had been comfortable with the height of the waves, thier speed and depth.

What was I doing out here? Having a grand time, that's what.

The sun neared us, turning the water into liquid joy. I laughed and sputtered out sea water and dove more. The waves turned to crimson and the bright orb of the backlit sun caught the curling crests making the sand in them glisten. I was getting tired. The moon grew brighter as it pulled light from the setting sun. Likewise, the waves grew bigger and more pushy as the sea pulled energy and effort from my body.

Finally it was down to the one last glowing sunset wave. I giggled the entire ride in to shore. I felt like I wanted to thank the sea, buy her flowers, send her hand-written thank you cards, sing her praises in my natural high. Tim and I followed six other exhaused happy surfers heading for the cooridor, the wet sand beneath us turning to pink glass in the fading light.