It is 4:27 on a November morning, and the seagulls’ chorus cuts like a blade through the harbour air. Wet clumps of seaweed are sprawled across the sand, marram grass rustles a few paces behind me, and pebbles gnaw at my feet. A sliver of dawn is blazing in the distance, while the cliffs behind me shelter under an ever-receding blanket of darkness. Like the radiance of a torch atop a million shards of glass, the sun’s gleam stretches for miles across the skyline. Barnacled crags slumber on either side of the bay, and dour clouds fill the sky. I gaze around the beach in silence, then bite my lip. Like a lullaby to my innermost nature, the shifting tides draw me closer.
Treading across sharp pebbles and sand, I can already feel the vigour of the sea between my toes. A venomous breeze is blowing, and cold pricks my fingertips. My nylon bathing suit clings like armour to my body, and I tremble from head to toe. The bitter air seems to will my retreat with all its might. But I do not retreat. I do not even look away. These waves do not intimidate me... I have suffered too much and too many times before to fear the ocean’s bite.
I arrive at the water’s edge tentatively, bashfully, like a worshipper at the foot of a sacred shrine. The ocean trickles out to meet me, then draws back in for another breath. Steeling my nerves and inhaling softly, I wade into its embrace. Immediately, I feel a sting pierce my consciousness. Frosty waters annex my toenails, then seize my ankles and infiltrate my veins.
But I will not surrender. I will not succumb.
It’s up to my calves now, swirling around me in a heady cocktail of fire and ice. But it is not pain that grips my body. My lungs are paralysed, my nerve endings are blunted, but my eyes and ears are suddenly, starkly, unequivocally awake. And that is when the shadows looming over my surroundings begin to fall away.
All at once, I see colour, I hear music, I feel life! All at once, I glimpse tranquillity in the gyrating tides, I smell vigour in the sea air. The sky’s burgeoning clouds, which only a few minutes ago assailed my eyes with stifling monotony, now enfold me in their beauty! I look, I listen, I breathe the ocean’s beauty. Then, with the greed of a child, I look, I listen, I breathe again. My footsteps slow to a halt, but my eyes rise in veneration. Even as cold waters lap against my knees, these waves feel like home.
And I will not surrender. I will not succumb.
It’s up to my waist now, subsuming my body into its gentle rhythm, back and forth, up and down. A cormorant cries several yards behind me; the sky in front of me only shines brighter. I know my time is running out. I walk slowly, pressing my lips together, and look down into the dark ripples for guidance.
I know my time is running out because the sea of my mind does not kneel down at the foot of man, nor does it cower to nature’s dictum. It is a force of creation in and of itself; volatile, stubborn and fiercely independent. It can tolerate intruders without objection, but is also prone to toppling into frenzied madness at a moment’s notice. Even now, I can feel the weight of the waves’ muscle twitching beneath the ocean floor, thirsty for upheaval. The tide continues to sweep in and out, like the pendulum of a clock. Nonetheless, greed dares me to venture just a few steps deeper.
It’s up to my chest now, reaching for my shoulders. My body is almost completely submerged, and twitches in anticipation of a change in the water’s temper. But I ignore it; I’m not ready to turn back to the shore... not yet. As long as my head is above water and the waves move to a steady cadence, my will remains resolute.
And I will not surrender. I will not succumb.
These sentiments are reckless, I know, and they’re arrogant. This taciturn beauty enveloping my body, this enigma of incomprehensible complexity, does not play by the rules of swimming pools and lakes. No human swimming in these depths will ever be afforded any amount of dignity or respect. That is because these writhing torrents, metamorphosing from minute to minute and second to second, can never be claimed my man. They can never be made yield to the human will. Their conscience is too valiant for that, their pride too strong. No, these waves will only keep beating their own rhythm into the coast until the world decides to move in time with the beat. The sea sings its song with murderous desire, yet there is splendour and integrity in its might.
Notions of yearning
Swaying in the sea’s motion, I have, by now, heard every instinct in my body tell me to fight against it, and I have fought with every ounce of energy I have to stay. In the end, though, not even my own determined will can obscure the burgeoning glow of the sun, now ripened into a soft mid-morning lustre. The waters around me churn in disquiet. Notions of yearning and defiance begin to dissipate in my mind... Cold unease sets in. I exhale shakily, then steady myself. Like a glutton at a glorious feast, I know the time has come for me to rise from the table, satisfied that I have had my fill.
I snatch one last, lingering glance at the shimmering horizon, savouring it like wine. Then, slowly, painfully, I turn to face the shoreline anew.
It’s down to my chest, to my waist, falling rapidly past my knees, leaving only a numb chill whispering in my skin. It passes my shins, then my ankles. The waves’ symphony slowly dies in my ear, and my legs seem to weigh heavier with every step I take. I carry a quivering spine and scalded arms and leaden thighs and senseless toes away with me, my heart already grieving for the peace I leave behind. Yet even as jagged rocks on the shore grimace in welcome to me, I do not fight my reasoning.
Because I will not surrender. I will not succumb.
A familiar silence
On land again, sharp pebbles once more gnaw at my feet and birds shriek to the sea. But beyond the squawks and the whistle of the winter breeze and the beat of water on pebbles, a familiar silence has descended. I observe the surf breaking against the shore, and a sparrow streaking across the sky, then cast my gaze back to the beach around me. Vacant sand and expressionless rock gaze back at me.
For a second – just a second – I feel something beyond the phantom chill of the ocean water, and the grief of this morning’s goodbye. A pang of loneliness bursts into my thoughts. In that second, my heart aches for my beloved, volatile ocean retreat; for the stones and sand that long to be trod on by another pair of feet, for the gull cries that long to be heard by another pair of ears, for the placid wavelets that long to lap at another pair of ankles. My eyes swivel to the horizon and see a straight line extending from one side of the bay to the other, unbroken by the silhouette of any shrieking paddler or adventurous surfer.
I sigh.
But I do not surrender. I do not succumb.
My mind’s ocean is a dangerous place for inexperienced swimmers.
