I didn’t want to know the ocean
I didn’t think I had the strength for it’s uncertainty, this cold western blue, ever washing
We came to it years ago before our life had shattered. When we limped back, broken, bleeding, I sat on foggy shores and it soothed my soul.
Til a loneliness set in. I wanted to to tidy things up, store them away in boxes well marked so I could find my way back to being in control. I remembered settled fields and trees unmoving, paths walked a century or more amidst the land I had come from. Away from this ever moving, unwelcoming creature stretching on forever. The sea already held one son, how could I forgive it? It enticed my boys, but was too cold for me to call a friend, too unknown, unpredictable. I could not read its’ face, I did not long to know its’ secrets as they did.
but seasons change. Sun beats down warm and the beaten path and four walls confine. Summer comes and the time for rulebooks and learning lessons fades into sundrenched days. I grew tired of stacking pieces, trying to fit them into a puzzle I long ago lost track of. I thought I didn’t have the strength for uncertainty but came to find I don’t have the strength for control. And with the sunflowers growing tall and roses bursting open, a longing grew to slide into that great unknown, or at least to tread its’ dancing edges.
So I paddle and flail, trying to make my way out only to get tossed laughingly back to shore. Each time is different, wether angry or hurt, defeated, frustrated or exhilarated, the ocean does not hear my hopeful plea – “make this easy on me.” I can’t find the beat of this great wild rhythm, out of step as everyone around me dances. I feel afraid, and silly for my fear. These small waves loom so large over my head, my feet knocked out from under. The sea can not hear my silent hope, but I am certain that it knows me and so I return. The warm days fill with water and sand, ice cream, color and more water again, everything covered in salt under the blue sky baking. We wander the road along this coast and I recognize the beat, filling the lungs, pumping through the heart of each sun bleached surfer. The air is alive and we drift too and fro.
When I have to enter the places this rhythm is kept out, blocked by white walls and pavement, it feels too quiet now. I’m coming to need the song of washing surf tossing it’s praise unending. Places that deal in certainty like black and white, dollars and cents seem less than real before this great unceasing energy. And so I am drawn back, in over my head… because only when I am rocking amidst what I can not control, only there do I feel honest. When I tread this solid ground I can make believe at being capable… but I am not.
I am in over my head. We are in over our heads,
in raising three boys to become men, in our finances, in trying to make a home, in love, in healing, in writing, in photography, in physical pursuits, in the every day of work and what the future holds, in all our goals, in everything we have begun we are in so very far over our heads
and in redemption. in over our heads, no way to walk to heaven ourselves.
When I was younger, I played at trusting, but in youth’s vigor and naivety I secretly thought I could or should do it all myself, and jumped in. For years trying to make treading water look like standing strong. Now the only place that feels honest is where I can float, amidst a sea far too deep for me. I wanted to go out, stand up, ride the waves back in, victorious.
But maybe it’s enough to be in over my head, afraid, where all I can do is trust. Learning this wild song that knows me, awash in grace
(images made with a somewhat waterproof Canon Sure Shot . film is expired Kodak Gold I think . shot of my neck taken by David)
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