A smile rides home
with me
after five days
of coastal backpacking
with old friends
and family.
I approach my single
man’s cottage,
know loneliness
is near,
nearer.
Is now.
What vast sweep
this feeling has,
how rich with fear!
I let the waves tumble
and tumble
me into the sand.
Finally,
cast ashore,
I rise
naked
in the sun.
Anyone having the opportunity to body surf quickly discovers that the way to deal with a botched ride is to relax into the wave. I initially found this counterintuitive, tending to keep my neck and back stiff, head above water–resulting in my being repeatedly smacked against the bottom, breath knocked out or worse. This experience rapidly improves one’s technique, and yields a metaphor of value in surfing other waves.
Always something of a slow learner, it took me a long while to realize that the direct, sensory experience of suffering is a safe, sure portal to the soul.
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