Truthfully, the best part of visitng the beach is not the cool sand under the canopy, the ice-cold cervesas (beers), topless chicks sunning, or the salty gentle breeze. The best part of the beach is the endlessly thundering waves of the water.

For me, I have to get into the water. I simply have too. After years of swimming in pools competitively, the rip-roar of the tide calls to me. I am sure you can attest to the grandeur that the surf  commands as compared to the placid calm of a pool. And it is that greatness that I love. The rythmn that the water beats on the drum of the beach, it awakens me to play in it.

Of course I go out as far as I can, to where my feet can no longer touch the safety of the sandbar, that I float over the abyss. Looking into the darkness beneath me, lolling with the waves with only the strength of my limbs and the buoyancy of my body, this is where I love to find myself. In tune with the rythmn, uulating with the hum of the sea, pulsing with my own personal power – the power to overcome the depths beneath me. Here is where I truly play, where I let the crash of cresting waves and rushing riptides carry me back into the coastline.

And then I do it all over again, throwing my self into the waves, letting them fling me over their back like a father wrestling their son. Again, again and again I play in the waves. It seems silly to say, but I feel love emanate as I play in the waves that carry me. Not everyone can handle the rough-and-tumble play, and the waves of the ocean are not patient for those who can’t handle rough play. But for those who can handle the relentless nature, there is joy and laughter and exhaustion of all cares and worries.

This is my sunday revery, my sunday worship, to immortalize with my hands the eternal love of the sea.