On A Related Note...

... something I just stumbled across, on the topic of staying present, or spirituality, or whatever you want to call it - something I wrote in Baja, California in 2007:

Where Liz Gilbert in Eat Pray Love goes to an ashram in India, I go to the waves in Baja California.

I wake up to the sound of waves all the way up in my bungalow, over the sound of the air conditioner. They land with a rumbling thump, kind of like Texas thunder, but deeper.

I am afraid.

Logically I know the waves aren't very big or powerful (I mean, they aren't Mavericks; they aren't Steamer Lane) but logic has nothing to do with fear.

We eat breakfast, drink coffee, take our vitamins, I admit my fear aloud. We walk the half mile to the break on the steep, coarse sand, over the rough granite ledge, across more sand. The water is azure blue, and when the inside waves break close to the shore they take on a greenish hue. You can see big clouds of sand in the clear water, kicked up by the powerful shore pound.

I walk into ankle deep water, open my arms and both palms to the ocean, and chant.

Ham-Sa. (I got this from Liz Gilbert's book.)

It means "I am That."

I say it in English for a while, especially when each wave breaks. I am That. I am This. I am the ocean and the waves and the seashore, the sun and the sky, it is me and I am it and we are one and so what is there to fear?

A more experienced fellow surfer imparts encouragement and practical wisdom. "I know you can do this, Deb. Remember to take the tapering waves; you can catch them on the shoulder there. If you fall, fall flat, there's urchins. Remember to watch the wave as you paddle for it; these waves are shifty and jack up fast. Time your paddle out between sets. Remember you can always turn turtle. You can do this."

I nod optimistically and watch him go.

Ham-Sa.

I am That.

After a set goes through (during which I face it reverently, palms facing out, chanting) I wade into the water. Quickly, I am waist deep, soft sand up to my ankles and a wall of water breaking right in front of me ...

Shit!

I mean, Ham-Sa!

I am That! I am Shit! Crap! Turn turtle! Paddle! Paddle paddle paddle paddle paddle ...

Whew.

There's a real surfer, gliding down the face of a head-high, fast-moving wave, looking graceful and effort free. He kicks out, turns and paddles back to the peak, where five other guys are sitting and chatting casually. They easily take turns catching waves, right in the curl, the steepest, heaviest part of the wave. One of these guys has only been surfing for a month and he takes off on everything, kamikaze style.

I sit way out on the shoulder and try to drown out the voice that says You are such a loser, look at that guy, ONE MONTH, and you've been surfing what, eleven years? You chicken shit, you stupid ... with prayer.

Dear God, please send me a wave, a small, gentle yet rideable wave.

I wait. Some biggish waves come. The boys hoot and ride them. I wait.

I think about my prayer and remember to be specific and clear and thorough.

Dear God, please send me a small, gentle, rideable wave, and the courage to take it, and the ability to ride it, and the ability to tell which one out of all these waves is the one you meant for me.

Several more big waves roll through, but neither courage nor certainty roll with them. I watch the guys take off deep, hear their hoots for each other.

I feel lonely.

Oh for a pair of balls, a pair of nice steely ones, I think but don't pray. I say my little prayer for a wave and courage and certainty again, and then I try reminding myself that these guys aren't on the spiritual journey I'm on, and by the way their wives have perfect tans from sitting on the beach in their bikinis, whereas I have the farmgirl tan that comes from wearing surf trunks and a rash guard, and oops, don't get into the comparison thing, remember, I am God and God is me and I am the ocean, the ocean is me and I am part of this and this is part of me and fear is just a dream, the only thing that exists is this moment, and this wave, and there it is, this is the one, this is the one, right God?

Right.

And just in case I don't trust God, I hear some deep voice booming, "Go Deb! Go! Go!"

And I paddle and I look back and Oh God, it's huge, it's HUGE, how can this be the one you sent for me? and I keep paddling and feel the board take off and I slide my feet back into the wave and stay on my belly, I am going SO FAST down this mountain, the roar and the BOOSH are all I can hear, and I turn the board and scoot forward and think "Yoga" and strike Upward Facing Dog Pose, proudly, I know I won't stand, it's too late and too fast and I'm too scared, I just stay in Updog and ride, smiling, terrified and thrilled and happy all at once.

Later, one of those real surfers commends my gutsiness. "I couldn't believe it, you took off on the biggest wave of the day!" I am surprised and pleased by his praise, and that it didn't matter to him if I stood up or rode well - it was my courage that mattered.

And I don't have the heart to tell him it was the exact opposite of courage that drove me into that wave. I'm not sure he would understand, and besides, I want to savor it and keep it to myself as I try to comprehend what it means for me and my life, this irony, that fear drove me to take the biggest wave of the day. It feels like it will be my life's work to figure this out.

Ham-Sa.

I am That.