Surfer
On the beach he stood with reflecting eyes,
Gauging his harmony with the waves' own
Swell and fall to the shore on which he stood:
The vision of him surfing, of paddling,
Catching—sliding, dropping, crouching, standing—
Of standing on his board, surfing a wave,
Trembled in him like the ocean before.
A caw of a seagull, a raucous cry—
A smooth, gliding ease on the wind, he saw;
Then ran to the ocean like you and I
Rush into our beloved. The board's hard beat
Brought him to his senses at that first touch
Of the board to the water off the land.
What a struggle began! Waves' strengths tossed him
Churlishly in white water back from where
He had already paddled—he paddled
Again and again—again he was forced
To acknowledge how the ocean could kill:
How it could drown him and grind his bones in
The innumerable pebbles ashore,
Like skeletal wrecks he'd seen at low tides;
So he didn't give up but paddled more—
Sore were his arms—sorely little progress
He made. The vision which had spurred him on
On land was washed away in the waves' fight.
When before a huge wave he surged to, fearing
It would crush all his hopes, frantically,
Tipping up and up and—through!—he glimpsed calm,
Softly swelling ocean past the break—then,
By then, he was grateful, only grateful,
To the sea's mighty, majestic spirit.
He paddled on, quietly, further out
Past the chance surge of any monster wave
'Til he came into his vast ignorance
Of the infinite depths of the waters
Of Earth. In that delicate fear he turned
His board and paddled closer to the shore
Within chance of a breaking wave. To surf
A wave is a treasure within our souls:
We dance abreast the mercy of our Lord.
Be it atop a board along a swell
Supplely surging beneath us, beside
Us, around us—this ecstasy of life
Is what we all are, my God, a part of!