Surfing

I have never surfed in the sea, so I am speaking metaphorically with no existential authority about the metaphor.

Just thought I would make that clear upfront. If that precludes me from sharing my insight in your eyes, perhaps now is a good time to swim to shore. I am going to take the risk and keep writing.

Writing is, in many ways, like surfing.

You make your way out into the ocean, which is the great universal sea of consciousness. You are vulnerable but, somehow, through surrender to the whole, and through awareness, you are able to stay afloat.

You are alone but all one, both at once. It is not up to you whether you surf or not but you head out and prepare yourself anyway. It’s very likely that sometime you will be in the write place at the write time and a wave will find you.

You know how to surf to some degree, no matter your level of experience, and you are at the same time clueless, also regardless of your ability. It’s paradoxical but creative tension is your territory.

Sometimes something happens immediately, or you even head out seeing beforehand that there is motion in the ocean.

Sometimes there are no swells to speak of, so you wait. You float and feel and let yourself merge with the enormous mystery.

Then, when a wave swells, you spring into action, stand up on your keyboard and, using your skill, instinct, and alertness, and in boundless and humble delight, you ride it home.

Surfing must be like writing in many ways. You can’t predict it, you can’t control it, but you can work with it.

You need all your wits about you but it’s not you who does it. You are always learning. If you think, you fall, so you have to flow. It’s a way of life.

Now and then you find yourself on a crest.