Saturday, April 4, 2009
On a hill above the southwind beachbreak live a pantheon of surfers. All more adept than me. Or you.
My son and friends walk through a hallway. Windows show syncopated fin flicks, tail slides, and speed runs on either side of the corridor. GG traces a winding line through the hall, gazing through each shrine's window. He observes, questions, places himself amid the scope and scale of the ocean's varied inhabitants.
We lay for a moment on the floor. In front of us and above us is a pane of glass. On one side concrete, petro chemicals, the necessity of land preservation (my son says "Thanks, Mr. President.") On the other is a column of water, stacked with an array of creatures each of their own dignity, wholeness. Our eyes scan the portal. We imagine ourselves as creatures of the sea.
Outside the building I look down at surfers playing in the happy swells. I scan from Cave Cove to Triton Pier. A thousand times I've surfed those waves in my mind's eye as I stood watching them. A thousand times I've slipped the surface that binds me and entered the water below. Today I don't dream of surfing the waves. Today I imagine that I am below the waves, immersed completely in the salty, holy water.
Happy Birthday GG. It was a happy day for me, too.