I got baptized today. I am, once again, a new creation.
It wasnât my first time, and it wonât be the last. It was just one of many recurring immersions in the waters of sacred renewal, but like every time, it surprised me how much I needed to be submerged, cleansed, and reborn.
I hadnât surfed in at least 6 months, and a strange thing happens when I go too long without doing something I deeply love. Whether itâs yoga, breathwork, sex, surfing, painting, dancing, or another practice of communion and remembrance, when I step away too long, I forget how much I need it, and how much it heals me.
Brent suggested a family surf and beach day yesterday, and honestly, I wasnât thrilled at the idea, mainly because itâs winter and itâs just really cold. But I agreed, partly because we needed to get out of the house (as repairs and construction are ongoing), and partly because I frequently say no, and sometimes I just need to make myself get out and get active with the boys and have a good attitude about it. We all benefit from taking the time to be connected to each other and wild nature.
River is almost 4 now, and today was the first winter day that all four of us were suited up in proper wetsuits, and all four of us surfed. River caught waves with me on the foam-top longboard, and Tanner surfed with one of his friends. The gentle waves of Baleal were particularly mellow today, and the tide was low enough that even the 8 year old boys could stand in waist to chest deep water and catch sweet little reeling, peeling reframes.
I fell in love with surfing the same time I fell in love with my husband. I fell in love with surfing in large part because I fell in love with my husband. She (mother Ocean) is his first love, and my only option if I wanted to be with him was to embrace the love triangle, and never try to deny it or usurp Her.
Today was one of those stop-time days in a mundane way. Nothing extraordinary happened, but we splashed and played and danced with the salt water, munched snacks from the cooler on the beach, stayed in the water until teeth were chattering and arms were weary, and then fell back into Dink (thatâs the name of Brentâs 20 year old ratty surf van), exhausted in a good way, peaceful with each other and ourselves.
Running into the ocean awakens the maiden in me. Growing up, my most sacred place was my grandparents' oceanfront beach house on the central coast of California. The ocean there was rugged, wild, cold, and somewhat dangerous, but I learned to respect it. When I was Tannerâs age, we spent a few weeks each year there, and from morning to night, I was in the water, dragging a busted old boogie board around and freezing in a too-big hand-me-down tank top wetsuit that used to belong to my uncleâs friend, but had been abandoned in the beach house basement for all the renters and visiting family to share.
Even now, at 39, when I run into the ocean with my board and take that first leap over a wave, swinging myself up into paddle position, my heart beats faster and I become lighter. Determined, I head towards the horizon, adjusting my course to time the oncoming waves, and try my best to make it over them before they break. Eventually, one gets me, and the rush of cold salt water enlivens my entire being.
Once I make it outside, past the breaking waves, thereâs a sense of satisfaction and belonging. Sitting on my board, thereâs nothing to do but take in the sun, salt spray, observe the scenery, splash, play, and daydream. In time, I see lines rise in the water beyond me, and my body alerts, ready to meet the oceanâs momentum, knowing Her movements are never the same twice.
Todayâs waves wouldnât impress any surfer worth their salt. It was teeny tiny and most of the ones I caught were barely powerful enough to stand on - so I rode some on my knees, some on my butt, some standing and playing with balance, running towards the nose to try to get enough weight forward to move down the line. I travel as far as Sheâll take me, then crash-splash into the water, every time, baptized and made new again, made nine again, made me again.
Every time I get out of the water, I think how could I have forgotten her? Where has she been, this piece of me? Today, I realized, itâs not that Iâve forgotten her, itâs that sheâs just been there, in the ocean, waiting for me.
Sheâs always there, in the ocean, waiting for me.
Thatâs the thing about baptism. Letâs separate it from religious dogma and just think about conscious, intentional immersion in a vast body of water. If we think about water as a vehicle between heaven and earth, the essence of our bodies and blood, the primordial fluid of birth, then of course to submerge oneself in it brings a sense of whole-making.
Iâm thinking a new way about ritual immersion, whether in water, breath, movement, love-making, art, dance, or simply presence. Itâs not that I need to do it to recollect a piece of myself, as though itâs a task of putting together a puzzle. Itâs more like when I plunge myself into whatever it is, the part of my being which experiences the magic of immersion is awakened, comes online, comes alive.
They are not so much âpiecesâ of me - writing, surfing, yoga, art, rose-tending, mushroom-keeping - as they are enlivened energies of how Spirit moves through the form of my Being.
All of them, and all of me, are always blessed by our communion.
So maybe Iâll get baptized again tomorrow.
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