After my first week of frontline training I decided I was finally at a place where I could take off on the motorbike by myself and head to the beach. I have a rack on the side of my bike and strapped on the board. Ready to ride. Easy enough head down to the beach and paddle out. No problem.
Spun out and annoyed by my feeble sense of direction- I've resorted to google maps to get me places. Just pop the headphones in and I have a hands free homing device. It's amazing that every time I venture out its a completely different world that reveals itself. If you can't see the forest for the trees there seems to be a thick variety of trees here!
I made it to the beach- I've spent some time surfing in many different places and while the surf was blown out I thought I could at least paddle out and tune up my stroke, maybe catch a wave or two. Instead I got caught in between. Purgatory would be a euphemism. A current between two breaking wave areas that I was hoping could carry me outside where I could traverse over to catch my ride. I quickly became nothing more than a sliced carrot in a boiling stew. Paddling...Paddling...Paddling. Going nowhere. Was it my imagination or was the coast receding? I swear there were one or two other surfers out here? Where are they? Paddling. Paddle. Paddle! The sun on the horizon. Hmmm. Nothing like the sunset surf in California that I always loved. This is feeling like a really bad idea.This tiny dancer is not happy to get swept out into the Indian Ocean at nightfall alone. Oh god. My desperation to surf is not working out so well. The panic starts to set in. Calling out for Ma, the divine mother, I quickly recognize my fear is draining my resources. Intuitively I direct my fear towards calming my mind and breath. Relaxing, I allow my view to expand. I began to harness my energy beyond the paddle stroke and actually will my energetic body towards the edge of this impasse. It felt like an absolute miracle of love when a wave gushed up and came towards me. Pointing my board and digging two deep strokes the wave rose up under me like a magic carpet. I hopped up and got a short ride before it dissolved back into the mystery from which it arose. A few more came with just enough force to begin pushing me back toward shore and away from the Bali demon jaws of which I was just held. The relief feels like waking up from a nightmare or finally cutting loose the bag of bowling balls anchored off my leash. Relief with a capital R. Clearly the surf in southern Bali during the rainy season is not for the light weight Colorado surfer that I've become. I kissed the ground when I made it back to the beach. Maybe it's time to see what else Bali has to offer.