I struggled to reach the ocean’s surface, arms flailing, gasping, swallowing water. The current pulled me under again. The force of the ocean was overwhelming. My strength was failing.
I managed one last surge to the surface, screaming, “HELP, HELP!” as the tide carried me further away.
My partner awakened and rushed into the bedroom, hugging me, whispering, “Hush, it’s okay, it’s okay. It was just a bad dream.”
When I calmed down, all I could say was, “The current, the current. It scared me so much.”
In spite of my occasional nightmares, I remember so fondly and vividly my younger days at the ocean, especially the exquisite feeling of glee as the approaching mountain came tumbling towards me, and then mercifully receded as I jumped up and down on pebbles of gold. I was excited and terrified by the fear of being dragged out into the unknown, but that didn’t deter me from racing repeatedly into the force, and then squealing with happy relief as I sped safely to shore, and back out again toward the endless horizon.
My father was always cautioning me, “Don’t go out too far, remember the current is strong.”
He’d motion for me to come in, but the best waves were a little beyond. They were reachable if I just swam for a few more minutes. I kept going, no longer able to hear his voice. My arms got tired fighting the current. I became nervous, and tried to turn back towards shore. It wasn’t possible as the water kept pulling me away from land. Why hadn’t I listened to my father?
Where was my strength? The force of the ocean engulfed me. Just as I thought I couldn’t make it, a strong arm grabbed my hand and yanked upwards. I surfaced sputtering and coughing. It was my father pulling me to shore. He hugged me too hard and set me down too roughly.
His voice was tight, “When I tell you not to go out too far, stop! Do you hear me?”
He snapped, “Pack up, we are leaving!”
That was my worse time ever at the beach, probably the source of the nightmares. From then on I tried to be more cautious, but I wasn’t watching vigilantly enough, when a giant wave crashed near the shoreline, smashing me into the gritty sand. I fought for breath and saw blood on my knees, feeling fear in my belly. As the breaker drew back, I quickly got up, and luckily, was not hurt badly. The soft beach was the perfect resting place for a bruised body and ego. I saw my family in the water and raced back in just as an especially humongous wave lifted us all.
Excitedly, I yelled, “The wave is carrying the whole family!”
I loved that. We were floating on top of the world, swimming to the sound of the sea. Its smell, saltiness, stickiness, and motion had penetrated into my young, sponge like being, as a sensory memory. Not even realizing it, the sea had become part of me.
Years later, when I took my children to the beach my senses were awakened by the sea. I was a child again experiencing the joy of the waves anew. The ocean was deep within my soul. It made me feel as free as a bird and mysterious as its depths. I was, and still am, totally captivated by the ocean’s pleasures and potency. Its currents have taught me many of life’s lessons. I have learned to harness my impulsivity, to listen, to make careful judgments, and to respect nature’s power.
INSTANT NOODLES 