Ocean Waves

Yesterday I went Rockaway Beach, which is accessible via subway (for those not in the know).  Yes, folks NYC has its very own beaches.  The subway and bus out there were pretty uneventful, unless you count the fact that the Woodside stop always smells like urine.

Walking off the boardwalk and onto the sandy shores I relished the feel of soft, sugary sand between my toes.  I always do.  I lathered up on the sunscreen before I left the house.  I lathered up there.  I sprawled out on my beach blanket, I ate my Turkey sandwich, and then I did what I do best.  I delved into the water, as I'm not much on just lounging on the beach all day. 

Rockaway is known for its undertows and waves.  The undertow wasn't an issue yesterday, and the waves were delish. The ocean has always defined me, and the sights of machines to fight its fronts excite me.  The long plants, steep steps, and the unpredictability make me feel free and alive. 

The ocean cools and comforts me.  I run to it for strength and comfort.  Letting yourself be immersed in such a fierce element brings a sense of consolation, contentment, and happiness.  While also making you feel small, meek, and without rescue.  Just beneath the surface holds and entire ecosystem of friends and foes.  We are no longer at the top of the food chain, and we are not the strongest.  Something as small as a crab—no bigger than both my hands—can grab to your body, pulling flesh and bone before moving on.  A smaller creature, the jellyfish, can nab you causing immense pain and trepidation.  But the occurrence of something catching you is rare.  The thought of getting caught is frightening, and the knowledge is tremendous.  Each time you step into the water a crapshoot occurs.  You might come out, might not.  Might get stung or slice a toe on a shell, or you may be lucky and commune with the water and system as one.  If you let yourself go, release the fears of the unknown, you can immerse with the water and creatures and find a sense of peace.  Your body will blend with the water, letting you float and cleanse yourself.  

The ocean will grab onto you, pull you under, and release you only if you let it.  You have to understand your balance with her.  You are meek and small.  A creature without force, strength, or speed.  You are a visitor.  When you visit the ocean you should come prepared to be frightened.  Otherwise she will shake you from her waters, spray you on the beach, and refuse to let you back in.  Memories, creatures, and effects of her soul will prevent you from conceiving that peace and tranquility sought there.  Then, we you go in the rain . . . now there’s an experience.  The rains will beat against you, she will fight it, and while you are caught between the two elements pieces of your being will be exposed.  Finding that strength and comfort is a settling effect.

Clearly, I love the ocean.  I hear there was a shark sighting there yesterday, and my friend Cathleen (who went with me) says we can say we survived one.  I guess I should tell her that I've survived more than one. . . when I was small and still living in Tacoma, WA we had sharks jumping at the back of our boat on more than once occasion.  

Perhaps I should mention that Lupus and the sun always give me ripply pink spotches on my body.  Cathleen thought I was burning oddly at one point until I reminded her.  I'm not sure if she really got it, as most people sans Lupus don't.  It's all good.  

Here's a pic or two of my favorites.