The ocean is somewhat like a long-distance train compartment, where, on the spur of the moment, a soul box is unlocking in front of a random fellow voyager. Often, lying on the board waiting for the next wave, you suddenly begin to start talking about something. Maybe it instantaneously becomes that far-reaching that you impulse to share, or perhaps, on the contrary, it's skin-deep, and now you want to fill it up with water around to add some depth.
When the glare dances on the thick sea, this gambol of light and water seems spectral. On the surface it's scintillating and rapid, skipping in unison to unknown rhythms, dropping into the blue stratum, the wind is buzzing, the surf rumbles, the foam is hissing.
We streamed through this light, it fell from above, it beat from below with a solid luminescence, as it was reflected by the dense water, causing scarlet streaks to incise the deep blue; we rowed through the spray while it was laughing in our faces - a mixture of colorless and cerulean, mocking and muscular. And finally, letting go the tension, the flow of blood and air inside moving with strain through our pumped hearts and engulfed lungs, the abyss finally began to open before us, and boards finally slid into it. We had waves to ride and they were also in us. Splashes, heart's palpitations, salt on our lips, rhapsody and velocity mixed in us.
Longing to melt away into the ocean and to become a mermaid - these infantile urges probably don't fully expire. If only you could edge into the sea and swim away with playing dolphins, you know you'd never return.
When the noise is full-throated, nothing distinguishes it from silence, the roaring and pounding obliterate all. Individual voices of the world are also indistinct in it. Perhaps, the universal chaos was full with roar before pouring into the Order of the Universe.
Because the water flowed, not sharing with us the purpose of its current, the reef felt uncomfortable. And the bottom, seeming close because of the incredible purity of the water, was fluid and unsteady, because dense glare ran along it without visible order.
The wave that fell on us was not that sizeable or menacing, but the waves are measured not in meters - they are measured by fright.
With the approaching of the wave, I ducked under the ridge and got covered with the bleak ash of foam.
The ocean lifted me with a ruthless blue palm and dipped into the very core of its turquoise body. And did not let go.
In such troubles, often flowing one from another, one should only blame yourself. After all, it's you who climbed into waves that you can not cope with; you did not recognize them, that's why you were knocked down, twisted and banged against the bottom, from which you buoyantly - because now you understand where is the surface - reflected and resurfaced.
I squeezed in one rapid breath and rattled from side to side, as if wanted to mix with water. Indifferent was the flaming impartial sun validating everything happening. The raw tempestuous wall did not release, and the sky and the sun did not mind.
My body lived separately from the mind that dragged the body to this triple accursed surfing, and just longed to live on.
When you load a vessel of your soul with cobblestones of artificialities, there is no much space left inside anymore and, according to Archimedes' principle, is superseded. Although not fully, of course.
Covered with condensation inside, you are misted, muddy and full of burdensome rocks. And you can not fly with them, you can not swim with them.
When you to match the body with a wave, you become identical to it with your spirit. Knowing that you merge with the wave not to become better than others, but to overcome your old self.
The seabed was necessary! It was necessary to gain this sensation of the ground underfoot. There was no up or down, left or right.
Swimming out on the board in the ocean - it's like going out into the open space. As if in the ocean you are somewhere in another Universe, where time and space are different, and not on your home planet Earth, you do not need there this notorious "ground under your feet", because the board is a sufficient support for your legs, for your confidence, no worse than the shore and certainly boats.
And what's the difference, are you standing with square feet of your feet on the ground or on a board.
But in order to understand all this, you had to trust yourself.
“The point is, not to resist the flow. You go up when you're supposed to go up and down when you're supposed to go down. When you're supposed to go up, find the highest tower and climb to the top. When you're supposed to go down, find the deepest well and go down to the bottom. When there's no flow, stay still. If you resist the flow, everything dries up. If everything dries up, the world is darkness.”
I've experienced this state - a controlled understanding that it was time to move down. Found the deepest well and descended into it to give myself the opportunity to reach the bottom and feel the firm secure ground under my feet. Pouring your every drop of self-worth into its bottomless pit. Until that moment, I was sometimes haunted by the desire to lie and lie down on the ground, sheltered safely in embryo pose. Now, this feeling is in the past. It's unnerving to sink to the bottom, as well as to climb up. To achieve anything can generally be distressingly blood-curdling. But it is needful.
Guardedly, slowly, I inescapably paddled back out to the frontline, and the wave braced me back in its hands.
© Elin Vidoff