Byron Bay Surfer

Australia’s most eastern point still shrouded in slate winter grey
waiting for the last season’s rays to break open the day.
The rain sodden sand beneath his toes
cold, cold; chilling his feet.

The sun’s early morning meditation
draws the acolyte ready for spiritual practice,
peace, before the dull cream sand comes alive
with patterned circles and rectangles,
coloured bikinis and board shorts.

Sheathed in black skin like a seal’s
he carries his board to the water’s edge.
Lapping tidal lace, hypnotic invitation
curled emerald green underbellies
foam flecked the distant call.

A moment’s hesitation divining the best spot,
the break, a left turn to the rocks.
Easy movements a steady stroke,
duck diving under waves knee in the middle of the board,
the churning mass safely above.

Clear the mind push forward focus
the goal, the line up; a position out the back.

Half submerged legs dangling, board and body in expectation
the swell, a bell curve of highs and lows
an echo of:
emotions, desires and frustrations
the turning wheel of Dharma,
the rise and fall of attachment, suffering; hope for escape.

Wave upon wave communing with nature;
silent solid sets holding up the pressure of the rip.
Patterns on patterns, patience the lesson
intuition has its place, more body and soul than mind.

Turn.

Meet that swelling volume catch that perfect wave
lie down paddle push that board along.
Arms cutting through water
wait,
wait,

wait until the rising curve propels that board along.

The moment comes the wave suspended; frozen like green glass
a perfect curve, a slow motion contest.
Steady, stand, balance board and body find that perfect place
the fulcrum point that lifts and lowers: the nose, the rails, the fins.
Knees bent, arms outstretched; a physical meditation.

Slide down that face, slice through that wave,
go with the flow, glide on that emerald curl,
cut that jewel, leave flares of foam traces of your path.

Tuck tighter in the pocket; that aqueous tube a promise,
that fast pace face, steep and bubbling
arms holding air; fly, the touch of lip orgasmic.
Roiling surf, white foam a crested warning
hear the roar:
adrenaline beat that trailing monster
draw marks upon that mountain leave all thought behind.

Missed opportunity,
chaos: an ego’s demand
the monkey mind no friend just foe, a startling interruption.
Misjudge the curl, jerk the board, cut that trailing cord,
invite the weight and power of oceans, rocks and tides.

Drilled. Pummelled. Rag rolled on one.
A wall of water a world so dark the only thought survival.
Now comes the lesson.

Cold,
cold,

hold that breath. Fear the hidden monster.

A churning state, expended lungs compressed,
pounding pressure pray have faith,
relax, trust the board torpedo to find the surface see the light

believe.