point break.

I sat atop the new longboard, drifting. The abysmal water swelled beneath. Ogreish waves stood in the distance– first jogging, then racing towards me. Contemptuous clouds brooded while marbles of rain cracked the water’s uneven surface. And the sea popped like cooking oil on an iron skillet.

It was Sunday morning. My first time.

Paddling again, I turned to look at the shoreline– a girl playing fetch with her dog. How oblivous she looked, laughing. I wish I was there. I wish I was that dog. I wish I was anywhere but here– sitting on this piece of plastic and foam. In the ocean. In the center of nothing. Just me and water and sky.

Bodhi would have been at ease. The 50 year storm makes an unwelcome return.

I took nature’s beating–waterboarding with a different meaning. Rolled and tumbeled in the Pacific’s Maytag dryer.

And when I returned to the car, I took pause. My heart was on fire. Arms made of soba noodles and legs of pecan pie. But I didn’t mind. To clarify, I had no mind. No ponderances or worries or hopes. Just emptiness. Presence without comment.

Like being thrown into that big body of water Magellan once described as the peaceful.