Weathering the Shoreline
After thirty years visiting this beach, my parents and I don't remember a year quite like this one. My dad said it's "gloomy." My descriptor is a gleeful "destructive."
Even during the calm years, there's something refreshing about looking out upon a landscape with so much information. The ripples and crests reveal movement on a minute and massive scale, ad infinitum. It's easy to dissipate yourself over the scene in front of you, like looking out upon a sea of people or the movements of a city. This year, the relentless storms multiply the density and contrast of the landscape (waterscape). Even the metaphors become more dramatized: the sea of people are riotous masses evading a predator; the city is infiltrated by animals or rebel forces. How is everyone going to escape? Where will they go?
That's a long way of saying that I've spent most of my time just staring at the water. The fever generates psychological impetuses for inanimate objects.
My parents are kind to put up with my restricted movements and utterances. We've done very little, but when the sun broke through the blackness for the first time yesterday, I knew my big outing for the day would be a slow descent to the water. In desperation for a distraction, I might even drift along with the tide.
When my mom and I got to the wooden beach chairs, I immediately laid down a towel and fell asleep on my belly. I woke up to a loud, repetitive sound like laughter. The molasses in my mind slowed the world until I could only process the common fare events of life in a detached wonderment. To be fair, though, this laughter was coming from a seagull. The cawing was close to my head and I lifted my head to see two seagulls just a few yards away, fucking. Too embarrassed to talk about it with my mom, I looked around to see if anyone else was noticing the show but everyone was looking away. I couldn't help but look back. Because I was so close, the male seagull was staring at me while it stood on the back of the female who looked off to the horizon in search of something that wasn't obnoxious or massively disappointing. The male continued to caw in my direction. I figured he was mocking me, so I turned away. I could still hear the laughter-caws of reproduction bouncing off the inside of the umbrella above me. It lasted a long time.
This, I decided, was a good time to swim.
In the water, the machinery of humanity fell away with the waves and I became one of the fish. I didn't think. The intense waves were more fun than daunting. I rode the curves of the surface and swam out to the second sandbar. There, I stood where the shelf quickly declines to the abyss. The waves there change from a sunny emerald to a dusky blue. When I go that distance, I can feel the darkness reach out to me with its cold water. It's terrifying and exhilarating. Beyond that line are massive animals and unseen canyons. Depths that crush the sunlight.
I spent most of my time hovering between the two realms. My natural response was to explore this alluring world, to take the equivalent of a hike through a forest. The water was pulling me out with a gentle, welcoming hand, promising revelations through observations. Despite the need for air. Despite the need for light. As if intense curiosity comes with immortality. I let the waves draw me out farther, slowly. Slow, now.
After an unknown amount of time, I returned to the shoreline and laid down. Immediately, my ailments returned and my head became stuffed with gauze. I fell asleep again and woke up to a loud, repetitive sound like screaming. As before, I lifted my head but this time, instead of procreating birds, I saw beach patrol trucks speeding by. The trucks were followed shortly by ATVs hauling ass. We later learned that a few teens almost drowned in the undertow (http://www.weau.com/content/news/423874053.html). I'm glad they were rescued. I'm also glad to see just how damn fast the local units move in order to save lives.
~ ~
Today, maybe as a sign of recovery, I have words to say. Or, words to type. Or, maybe it's simply the energy to type. A sore throat and fevered head breeds minimalistic expressions. Outside are tornado warnings and relentless rain. So, no slow drifting out on the water to timelessness. Dad offered to drive over to the movie theater and it wasn't until we had sat for an hour or so that I realized how the Alien movie franchise is focused on corporeal definitions. There are all manner of biological liquids going in and going out of people, which made me all too aware of how my body is currently fighting a viral intrusion. Thankfully, this flu hasn't caused mucus to burst out of my chest. Not yet. The most terrifying part of the film was a misquotation of Percy Shelley, a mistake that is later addressed but nonetheless alarming to someone so freshly out of the academic system.
This evening, my big outing was to walk along the shoreline to the pier.
I figured it was a good moment to consider my life, the decisions I've made, and how in the hell I want to move forward. I had a hard time thinking about much of anything other than the gigantic emerald waves next to me. I resolved to just enjoy my immediate surroundings instead of continuing to think in metaphors. Why should I give myself a hard time because I'm alone? Who cares? There's a sunset on the water and it's beautiful.
At a certain point on my hike, I saw an older man standing with his back to the water. He was looking up toward the small sand dunes, waiting for someone. I then noticed that there were a dozen or so chairs with their legs dug into the sand, all facing him. I was walking right through the set-up for a modest wedding, one that hadn't been there mere minutes before.
As I passed, the man spun toward me. He was the officiator. He cupped his hand over his mouth against the wind and yelled, "You forgot the bride!" I looked around to see if he was mistaking me for someone else. I then couldn't help but noticing that I was one of the only people on the shoreline who wasn't joined by their significant other or by their family.
I could only think to call out, "Next time," but my voice had turned to cotton, and I could tell that he hadn't understood me. I waved and walked away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Interpol - The Lighthouse
[Listen on youtube]
Interpol - The Lighthouse
This place is set to break
It's just as safe for me outside tonight
And I want that
I face the storm's appetite
From the lighthouse
And I want that
I embrace the storm and the night
Whole
What do the waves have to say, now?
What do the waves have to say, now now
Slow, now
I let the waves have their way
Now, now
Slow
I let the waves have their day
And I want that
Here, I've been living unloosened from sin
Upward and outward
Begin, begin
Here I've been loosened, unliving within
Inwardly urgent
I'm sinking again
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Even during the calm years, there's something refreshing about looking out upon a landscape with so much information. The ripples and crests reveal movement on a minute and massive scale, ad infinitum. It's easy to dissipate yourself over the scene in front of you, like looking out upon a sea of people or the movements of a city. This year, the relentless storms multiply the density and contrast of the landscape (waterscape). Even the metaphors become more dramatized: the sea of people are riotous masses evading a predator; the city is infiltrated by animals or rebel forces. How is everyone going to escape? Where will they go?
That's a long way of saying that I've spent most of my time just staring at the water. The fever generates psychological impetuses for inanimate objects.
My parents are kind to put up with my restricted movements and utterances. We've done very little, but when the sun broke through the blackness for the first time yesterday, I knew my big outing for the day would be a slow descent to the water. In desperation for a distraction, I might even drift along with the tide.
When my mom and I got to the wooden beach chairs, I immediately laid down a towel and fell asleep on my belly. I woke up to a loud, repetitive sound like laughter. The molasses in my mind slowed the world until I could only process the common fare events of life in a detached wonderment. To be fair, though, this laughter was coming from a seagull. The cawing was close to my head and I lifted my head to see two seagulls just a few yards away, fucking. Too embarrassed to talk about it with my mom, I looked around to see if anyone else was noticing the show but everyone was looking away. I couldn't help but look back. Because I was so close, the male seagull was staring at me while it stood on the back of the female who looked off to the horizon in search of something that wasn't obnoxious or massively disappointing. The male continued to caw in my direction. I figured he was mocking me, so I turned away. I could still hear the laughter-caws of reproduction bouncing off the inside of the umbrella above me. It lasted a long time.
This, I decided, was a good time to swim.
In the water, the machinery of humanity fell away with the waves and I became one of the fish. I didn't think. The intense waves were more fun than daunting. I rode the curves of the surface and swam out to the second sandbar. There, I stood where the shelf quickly declines to the abyss. The waves there change from a sunny emerald to a dusky blue. When I go that distance, I can feel the darkness reach out to me with its cold water. It's terrifying and exhilarating. Beyond that line are massive animals and unseen canyons. Depths that crush the sunlight.
I spent most of my time hovering between the two realms. My natural response was to explore this alluring world, to take the equivalent of a hike through a forest. The water was pulling me out with a gentle, welcoming hand, promising revelations through observations. Despite the need for air. Despite the need for light. As if intense curiosity comes with immortality. I let the waves draw me out farther, slowly. Slow, now.
After an unknown amount of time, I returned to the shoreline and laid down. Immediately, my ailments returned and my head became stuffed with gauze. I fell asleep again and woke up to a loud, repetitive sound like screaming. As before, I lifted my head but this time, instead of procreating birds, I saw beach patrol trucks speeding by. The trucks were followed shortly by ATVs hauling ass. We later learned that a few teens almost drowned in the undertow (http://www.weau.com/content/news/423874053.html). I'm glad they were rescued. I'm also glad to see just how damn fast the local units move in order to save lives.
~ ~
Today, maybe as a sign of recovery, I have words to say. Or, words to type. Or, maybe it's simply the energy to type. A sore throat and fevered head breeds minimalistic expressions. Outside are tornado warnings and relentless rain. So, no slow drifting out on the water to timelessness. Dad offered to drive over to the movie theater and it wasn't until we had sat for an hour or so that I realized how the Alien movie franchise is focused on corporeal definitions. There are all manner of biological liquids going in and going out of people, which made me all too aware of how my body is currently fighting a viral intrusion. Thankfully, this flu hasn't caused mucus to burst out of my chest. Not yet. The most terrifying part of the film was a misquotation of Percy Shelley, a mistake that is later addressed but nonetheless alarming to someone so freshly out of the academic system.
This evening, my big outing was to walk along the shoreline to the pier.
I figured it was a good moment to consider my life, the decisions I've made, and how in the hell I want to move forward. I had a hard time thinking about much of anything other than the gigantic emerald waves next to me. I resolved to just enjoy my immediate surroundings instead of continuing to think in metaphors. Why should I give myself a hard time because I'm alone? Who cares? There's a sunset on the water and it's beautiful.
At a certain point on my hike, I saw an older man standing with his back to the water. He was looking up toward the small sand dunes, waiting for someone. I then noticed that there were a dozen or so chairs with their legs dug into the sand, all facing him. I was walking right through the set-up for a modest wedding, one that hadn't been there mere minutes before.
As I passed, the man spun toward me. He was the officiator. He cupped his hand over his mouth against the wind and yelled, "You forgot the bride!" I looked around to see if he was mistaking me for someone else. I then couldn't help but noticing that I was one of the only people on the shoreline who wasn't joined by their significant other or by their family.
I could only think to call out, "Next time," but my voice had turned to cotton, and I could tell that he hadn't understood me. I waved and walked away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Interpol - The Lighthouse
[Listen on youtube]
Interpol - The Lighthouse
This place is set to break
It's just as safe for me outside tonight
And I want that
I face the storm's appetite
From the lighthouse
And I want that
I embrace the storm and the night
Whole
What do the waves have to say, now?
What do the waves have to say, now now
Slow, now
I let the waves have their way
Now, now
Slow
I let the waves have their day
And I want that
Here, I've been living unloosened from sin
Upward and outward
Begin, begin
Here I've been loosened, unliving within
Inwardly urgent
I'm sinking again
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~