At 8:00 a.m. on Sunday morning millions of people around the world get out of bed, put on their Sunday-best and re-discover their moral beliefs within the walls of a church; Genesis 1: 1-15, John 4: 4-29, alleluia and praise the lord. My language is a little more like 3.4 Roxy, 7’6” NSP salty twists of hair and sandy feet.
Walls aren’t something I’m into all that much. My Sunday-best is my lucky tie-dyed bathing suit, my wetsuit and my long board. Every part of my surf trip is a spiritual routine, and a time to reflect on my past, present and future footprints. Once my wetsuit is on, the previously contemplated future footprints appear in the present as I walk on the cool sand down to the surf, the entire time keeping my eyes on the horizon.
There is something special about floating on the top of something immeasurable with mysterious worlds of darkness and savagery; and incredible healing qualities; it makes me think about what the world is really here for; why humans exist and the universes most abstract questions. I create my own religion based on my ideas of my surroundings and the meaning I think everything has.
The sheer power of the waves is enough to let anyone know how uncontrollable the ocean is. As the water level rises to my chest I hop on my board and paddle into the white walls pounding towards me. I can’t explain furry behind a wave of sand and water on its last leg-of-life toward the shore.
Once I’m past the break and bobbing on the glassy water I usually sit on my board awhile and soak up the vibrating energy of the water. I really can’t explain in words how it feels, but I would imagine its close to the feeling someone would get when their god has blessed them, or their prayers have come true.
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