Standing Knee Deep in the Surf

La Siren administers very pointed lessons, sharp enough to cut.

Silt-laden ocean water tugs at my calves, the sand stealing out from under my feet, making standing treacherous. Even standing still for a few waves will bury your feet, slowly sealing you into the beach.

The lesson is simple enough. Many of her lessons are spare, no words wasted.

I shift my feet from side-to-side, giving my ankle a little shake to send the worst of the sucking sand off my sandals. My thighs and calves burn and I stagger a little, realizing I am buried to my ankles. I can only remember standing there for a few minutes. The ocean sounds like it always does, a soporific hiss punctuated by the high, harsh cries of the seagulls.

The lesson is like this: the life we live, the life of being a spiritual worker, is just like standing in that sand. The tide tugs us, waves batter us, the sand shifts beneath our feet, and if we do not plant ourselves well and keep moving, we will be swept away.

There is no contradiction in context. Sometimes ya plant. Sometimes ya move.

There’s a great deal of affection in her lessons, though one of her first lessons to me was to tempt me out to the waves, to drown. Better to die and try again than fail the lesson.

I stay standing in the surf for awhile, watching the horizon blur into the water. The sun is low, the air cool despite it being July.

There is no threat here, only a promise: to pass a lesson is to live.