Wave Dancing

When I close my eyes, I see the waves coming towards shore. I see them rising and falling. I see the corruscation along their flanks as the sunlight glints off of an infinity of mutating mirrors.

When I sit still and relax, I feel the currents gently pulling me in and out, up down, left and right.

This morning marked a new level of vacation joy. Again, I awoke to a brilliant day, but for the first time, I rolled out of bed smoothly. I didn't creak or groan, or reach for the ibuprofen. My body has reached equillibrium with my activity level. Wonderful!

Spending time at the edge of the ocean is like dancing with an enormous, erratic, inattentive partner. She lifts you up, and would just as soon dash you down. I've spent 11 of the last 364 weeks studying and basking in her rhythms.

Playing in the surf is a a very zen experience for me. I stand, float, tread, or swim in the water. I note reality. How deep is it? Can I stand? How far am I away from shore? Here's the next wave. Big or Small? How to handle it? Move toward it? Jump over it? Float over it? Dive into it? Dive in front of it and ride it in? Decide, do, repeat until shivering or scared.

What did I do on my vacation? I watched. I waited. I decided. I did. Then I did it all over again. And over again. And over again. And every time it was different.

And when I do it enough, I don't have to be there to enjoy it. The images play on the the back of my eyelids and the movements dance in my inner ear.