I love when the water is still. Of course, I can appreciate, and do appreciate, the waves, as well. I’ve watched them thrash and tumble gracefully, countless times in the last couple of months. I’ve seen my friends jump over them, swim into them, look after them. I have carefully noted the joy and life they foster. I have even imagined myself just surfing them for hours, without any effort or strain. Just to see what they do. Despite all of this, my main, true love rests and resides within still water. I am entranced by the way that currents and quick streams can fade into something salty (or fresh) and floatable, I am fascinated by the fact that no matter how fast, how intense, how urgently water moves, it can come to as something out of a picture book, out of a “still-life” painting. Of course, “still-life” is a sort of illusion, a fantasy. Something that appears still on the surface is neither shallow nor simple. Even though it may be perceived as so. It holds, and is surrounded by, movement. By naked children running barefoot beside it, or by birds, swarming something we try to assume or define. Something within the alluded “still.”
Often, there is risk associated with waves. We underestimate the capacity of the still. I admire the still because it simultaneously entices sensations of peace, of want, of smallness. What is the significance of my movement within the still? I try to define whether my subconscious in itself is a disturbance to what seems so undisturbed otherwise. I wonder if the still thinks it bores me. I wonder if it's safe and passive presentation is what appeals to me. My love of the still worries me, the possibility that I am not risking enough. That not enough is “on the line.” That since the current will not take me, I’ll be stagnant forever.
As I write, I learn, more and more, that my love for the still is unexplainable. It’s possible that I’m overanalyzing this love, as I often do. It’s possible that in searching for all the things I love about still water, about water which comes to a steady and gradual pause, that my frustration in its vagueness increases. But, as I write this, I look out on this still water. It’s the ocean, but there’s not a single wave on this bay. This is reason for complaint– no surfing, no “authentic” ocean sights. The lack of waves does not take away in the slightest from the abundance under the still. Recently, I was lucky enough to see it. Swimming above a green sea turtle, watching it surface for air before diving back down. Octopuses, changing color, resting on the coral, the Great Barrier Reef. The coral I’ve heard about since elementary school, and the one that I skimmed across, carefully trying not to touch. A treasure.
Awe, wonder, play, vibrancy, rhythm, life… all within, all concealed by, the still. Protected by a seemingly immovable, blue beauty. Learning to breathe underwater was hard. Being able to breathe underwater felt like a fantasy.
Thank you for being patient with me. Many exciting things to come…
-B (newly home, from New Zealand)
So very beautiful my bela!!!!
Beautiful!