Fourth Sunday of Lent: "Teach us, Lord, to Pray"
Benjamin Bolanos
"If I were called in to construct a religion I should make use of water." Phillip Larkin[1]
This might come to a surprise to you but I have some trouble with meditation. I really can’t do it. I can’t sit there and try to clear my thoughts, relax, and then feel present. I kind of just get sleepy. Don’t get me wrong; I see the value in it for other people, just not for me. I’m not good at prayers either. I find it forced when I do it or meaningless or almost too ritualistic and full of language that feels contrite and prescribed. I’m a disaster to my preacher father. But there is hope for me. I find spiritual discipline in a somewhat unorthodox but common way: I physically need to be in the ocean on a 15 to 23 pound board (depending on conditions), wearing a 4/3 thick wetsuit, in 55 degree water, using all my mental and physical abilities to read waves, calculate swell direction, triangulate my position in the water, check tide changes, wind direction, currents, locate channels, rate abilities of other surfers to avoid collisions, grade the force of each wave, and then paddle into position given all these factors. Not to mention the shark factor. This is my spiritual discipline. So I should probably explain.
Surfing is the hardest and slowest learning curve of any sport. It takes dedication, discipline, courage, and physical and mental conditioning. No one will ever master surfing. No one will ever master surfing since there are so many many variables to surfing. But that in itself is the very thing keeps us surfers going. Perfecting our abilities so that we may enjoy this strange closeness to the ocean and the wave. We strive to be close to the wave. It’s this relational part of surfing that is quite remarkable.
I think all of us feel a mysterious longing for the sea as some kind of secret to our own identity or existence, says Peter Kreeft, author of Surfing and Spirituality. We pay good money to be near the ocean. We buy property. We take vacations to the beach. When we think of a respite we usually think of lying on white sand near water, basking in the sun, doing absolutely nothing but being present in that moment.
Likewise, we surfers share a love for the ocean, our playing field. But we fear the ocean, we respect it, we honor it. We pay homage to it. It's a relationship we find sometimes find extremely hard to articulate to non-surfers.
Allow me to articulate that relationship via a story. Every surfer has a story that grounded him or her for life. Here’s mine:
Joan Didion once wrote, "We tell ourselves stories in order to live."[2] But sometimes those stories begin to fail us. So we need new ones to remind ourselves that life is precious.
Spring 2005. I had the day off and decided to head to Pacifica. I had checked the report and the tide was a mid tide, which is good for parts in Pacifica, swell was from the NW and I could tell from the wave intervals from the buoys that they had some size to them. It was raining too. I know when it rains the winds change and move south to southwest, which in Pacifica creates some clean glassy waves. Perfect ideal conditions. I checked the line up and saw where the peaks were breaking and paddled out. I was dialed in that day. I knew where to position myself correctly and I knew how much paddling speed I needed to match the wave velocity. It was as if I could tell the future and make it happened. I was catching wave after wave, bottom turning and ripping it.
Then it happened. I was getting cocky. Humility comes at a price sometimes. The wave roaring toward me was a "living memory." It was born some thousand of miles away when a change in temperature produced a change in pressure. Air moves from an area of high pressure to an area of low pressure. That’s wind. When the wind flickers on the ocean surface it creates small ripples. Then those small ripples become larger and larger into they become waves, which makes this whole thing weird since it’s not the water itself traveling across the ocean but merely the memory of the original wind’s energy transmitted from one water particle to the next. So as I was catching that fateful wave, I was really hearing the sound of the past arriving in the present with me directly in its path.[3] Ummm. That can cause problems.
Toward the end of my session, I paddled into that wave. Now ideally you want to position yourself so that you get close to the peak of the wave but not too close. The peak is where the lip of the wave is about to crash and here is where the greatest transfer of energy is and getting to one’s feet beneath the lip requires a little nimbleness. You need to move from a flat position to an upright position in the shattering "micro-moments" it takes for this transfer to occur. Technically this requires a leap of faith. You need to push yourself up from the front of the board with your hands and simultaneously pushing the board downward into the steep wave, in my case I was pushing myself off a cliff. I made an error. As I raced down the wave and tried to bottom turn, which is a taking the whole energy of the initial drop, turning from the bottom of the wave and hoping you have the momentum to race up to the top of the wave and speed down the line,[4] the wave began to pitched forward. I looked up and it was a lot bigger than before and my first thought were not "oh wow, what a cool physical representation of wind and memory." It was more like "Blank blank and blank. Sweet Jesus! Get me out of this now!"
It was bad. It was like a house falling on top of me. I was tossed around like a sock caught in a washing machine. When I came up for air, I realized I was in the impact zone. I went under 4 times and the whole thing repeated itself again an again. I was losing air. I was getting tired. I was scared. I needed to relax but couldn’t. After the last submersion I had to make a break for it. I mustered all my remaining strength and jumped on my board and paddled like a madman over the approaching waves. I don’t remember how I made it out but I did. As a soon as I went over the last wave, everything stopped, as if Jesus had outstretched his hands and in one moment, he stilled the waters. Silence. Panting, gasping, lying on my board, I looked around and everyone had the same look and position as I had. I then saw some dolphins a distance away. I saw a bird swoop down and hit the ocean surface and fly out with a fish in its beak. A seal popped its head up and just stared. It stopped raining. And I lay there dumbfounded, wondering how I managed to survive. I sat up, thanked God and in my own way gave my respects to the sea and honored it. I felt strangely centered and at peace.
The calm and the storm. Humility. Solitude. "From a Jewish perspective, the ocean, the first thing God created, is the most powerful force in the world."[5] Thus, the ocean is a natural force stronger than the individual, a force that requires the athlete to surrender himself. To give in, to submit to the will of the God, to be humbled, to understand that god is the ocean, the vast sea where we seek solace, comfort, and wisdom. Thus surfers are part athletes, artists, and spiritual seekers.
Rabbi Nachum Shifren, author of "Surfing Rabbi: A Kabbalistic Quest for Soul," is a tall bearded man who rides a longboard with such grace, writes "If you want to know God, learn to surf. Do you think Tennis players feel like they’re getting spiritual fulfillment out of their matches? Does the mail department at Gun World have a hard time handling the letters from readers about the spirituality of firing a .357?" Surfing is really a transformative spiritual journey. Surfers believe since the ocean is where life began on this planet, the act of riding a wave is momentarily a connection to this living memory. It’s the real deal.
"Surfing has more moving parts than any other sport, and because of that it requires the same laser pinpoint focused concentration to ride a wave as it does to meditate."[6] When you take off on a wave, you are now at the mercy of the sea. In a split second, those surfing variables disappear. You disappear. You begin to dance on the board on a wave as you move to stay in trim, stay in the wave. You shift your body, feet, your concentration is so sharp that for just 10 seconds you become one with the vast sea and now glide through water like birds in the sky. And that moment is breathless, powerful, and very transformative. You feel that power of the ocean; you can hear it roar behind you and simultaneously feel its gentleness. It is this "presence" that surfers yearn for over and over. It calls to them.
My favorite time to surf is sundown or sunrise. It’s quiet, no wind, no people, no sound but just the crashing of waves. Just me, my board, and hopefully God. I think about patience, harmony, my kids, my wife, my parents, love, fear, impermanence, death, my childhood, my purpose, joys, or sometimes nothing at all. I just sit, wait and catch a wave. And I understand that every time I take off on a wave, I am partaking in the last moments of a wave that began thousands of miles away. It’s an awesome transformative experience.
Every time I leave the ocean or surfers leave the ocean, carrying his or her board, head down, board in one hand pressed against the hips, slowly walking back across the sand, the movement of the walk is contemplative, as if in a trance. As if the body and mind were renewed. And if you wait long enough, you’ll see a surfer turn around, watch the ocean for some time and in their own way give thanks and then head home. That image speaks volumes to me.
"So I, the surfer, in the sea symbolizes the soul, with which I 'surf' in God. The sea is God. The beach is the path to God. Surfing is the experience of God, or the spiritual life."[7]
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[1] First line from Larkin’s Poem "Water"
[2] Joan Didion. We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live. Collection of nonfiction stories. Piece is also in "The White Album." Some of the stories reflect her loss of both parents, spouse, then daughter.
[3] Living memory concept comes from parts of Steven Kotler’s West of Jesus Novel. Description of wave and wind memory was captivating.
[4] Ibid., writing about surfing technique is hard and I find it boring. Kotler wrote those pieces quite nicely. However, wipe out stories are so common that they inevitably have common quotes and descriptions. Oh well.
[5] From "SurfingRabbi.com: A Kabbalistic Quest for Soul"
[6] Most sports have this component to them but it’s labeled "in the zone" or some other term. It’s the feeling of completely letting go as if it becomes automatic.
[7] Peter Kreeft. "Surfing and Spirituality" Catholic Education Resource Center.