My friend William emailed me the link to a seven minute video. His email had no note. He only sends what he feels has value, so, with curiosity, I clicked.
There I was, peering inside the curl of giant surf that hit our West Coast last week. The wave was massive—a literal thirty foot wall of water. Then, out of the violent, still center, surfed a man, riding the immensity of the curl. Wholly in the present, a slip-up away from serious injury or death, he balanced, flexing with the water’s movement, as the wave’s curl traveled.
In slow motion, his balance shifts, and the board slips out from under him. He’s caught in the Maytagging motion.
The video rides another monstrous wave, and another surfer emerges from its unimaginable depths. So much speed, yet somehow motionless, he is caught in the womb of the giant. Until, yet again, he loses that split second balance and goes down.
We all surf the wall of water called life—some of us with fine balance, some with clumsy attempts. Life seems oversized, outscaled; we appear minuscule in its grip. Apparently all there is to do is grab our boards again, wait for the precise time, launch into the vortex, and surrender.
All day, as events unfolded, some easy, some more challenging, I murmured “Surf, girl, surf!”—and found my balance inside the wave.
Wave and woman, life and woman, not two.
© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2014
PS Do not miss the video! Carve out seven minutes as a gift to yourself.