Depth of Nature

The sea like silken water with its triangular-peaked hills rising in front of me, neither relaxed or in a hurry, flows at a speed I wanted to experience.  I paddled frantically, and suddenly, in a breath, the sensation changed from a pulling through the water to a force pushing onto the azul cliff crest. Then there was the perfect rush down, the fall, a thunder of water behind, a liquid slicing turn along  green-blue scenery, a coal-less steam-powered train ride, the only energy nature’s.

In that breath, that ride, I remember that I too am part of this flowing life, and I shout out, thankful, singing, a prayer from within.  Air rushes past, nothing else can matter, my body and mind are consumed by a few seconds.  A delicious sensation, even the salty taste and scent as I inhale, smiling.

Seaside, I walk up the beach in adoration of nature.  My soul feels like my body felt, like a rock being momentarily launched, skimmed over something deep and alive.  And at the end of the ride, at the end of the moment, I sink into that which I love so much.

By Jonathan McCallum

 

Sea Dance

At rest on barnacled sandstone shore, watching the playful tumbling waves, the white foam falling, splashes a fresh scent of life, a delightful dance.

Words by Jonathan McCallum

time to go to sea

Sandside I slump, on shelled shore, sun screened and sipping soda, unaware of rising tide.
The waves lap my feet, childish, childlike.
I settle into my shallow rock pool.
It’s pretty. Controlled. Tepid. You could say lukewarm.
Occasionally, mercifully, the tide refreshes it
And that unforgetting love spills in, flooding my dry sand living.

I have been playing adult-like, fun-less,
Responsibly boring the world,
Offering religion, not new life living,
Forgetting I was made to be as simple as the waves.
Missing, simply, the fathomless sea.

Words ring in my ears, in my mouth: “Try harder,” “Read, pray, do…MORE.”
Words so unrefreshing, untouched by tidal tonic,
Stale on tired, heat-stroked ears.
But your one word stroke broke yoke-rules, found parched hearts,
Mine among them.

We study the sea,
Read books, endure lectures, schedule workshops,
Then, with dry feet, speak of how nice it would be
To swim.

The tide is turning, the sea calls me in.
There are some strokes to acquire—
Backstroking forwards,
Freestyle living,
Even butterfly,
Flying.
But surely the splash and splatter of learning is better than stagnant pools or stifling sand,
Sheltered from revitalizing thrill.

Time brings tide’s pull, I splash in, all I feel is new.
I dive, delve into your effervescence, afloat in you.
Stillness and movement mingle, a sweetness of life.
A soul-craved life.
That which clothed me, masked me, left onshore—
Religious duplicity, scanty love living, safety settling.
The tide is turning now. Will you take me to the deep?
The swirls along the rocks tell me that it is
Time to go to sea.

 

Sea King

Massive wave hills were breaking further out than I had ever seen.
I told myself and my friend that I would stay close-by shore,
And go no further, no more.

Slipping into the icy froth of the rip express lane,
Passing familiar rocky point,
I sat on my board, just gliding seaward like floating royalty in a river coronation,
Absorbing solar praise,
Robed regally in wet fur seal like suit,
Laughingly shouting back to my friend enjoying the shore-break surfing:
“Check this out!”
Forgetting to embrace shoreline wisdom.

My mistake apparent within seconds,
I am no king of the sea.
Today the familiar merry go round rip
joyfully ridden back to wave riding position
Bulged uncharacteristically and pulled me near to panic,
An unstoppable river, impossible to defy.
I was riding a water chairlift out to liquid white mountains.

In a salty blink, I whispered, “Save me!”
Doubt gushed, poured and exited out.
I saw daughter, wife, scenes of life.
I heard a royal blue voice call out: “Keep going, yes further out.”
Each shivering stroke showed feeble faith
As the sets rising green and tall drew terrifyingly near.

A precious wave approached from an unexpected angle,
Birthing hope within—to catch it would be certain escape.
It lifted me up, throwing me down, carrying me in.
I rode that surfboard like a rapid-rafting baboon,
Arriving to the shore,
Whispering appreciation to the real Sea King.