Life on the Edge

Yesterday was day 333 of swimming daily at Roaring Beach. During the preceding night I was awoken by thunder, lightning and a noise only made possible by terrific winds howling through trees. The Tasman Peninsula was being hit with gale force winds gusting to 90 knots. Trying to photograph mountainous seas in salt spray laden air while bracing against a continuous barrage of walled winds proved difficult through the whole day. The image above of an 8 meter (25 foot) breaking wave caught in a flash of dawn sun, although demonstrating a particular moment, does not fully convey the immense powerful story that was happening all around. Sound, taste and smell were equally demanding of attention as were numerous other senses. At the end of the day, the sensory overload was so great that at 8:30 PM I crawled into bed unable to write up the story for this blog "Life at the Edge". Part of the reason for this exhaustion was that after my "careful" swim that afternoon in outrageous surf; just after finishing with flippers off and wrist strap undone, I was swept up by a wave, floated laterally along eroding sand dunes and, as luck would have it, deposited on top of a rocky outcrop before the wave washed back out to sea.

I had actually seen the wave coming; had even judged its ability to reach me. I guessed wrong. The volume of the surge behind the wave was the unknown factor as it had stayed hidden until I found myself being lifted up off the sand, buoyed along like a cork. Moments earlier, I saw this wave begin its roll up the beach and I figured there was enough time to skirt along the sheer wall of collapsed dune to a safer vantage point 100 or so meters further down. Jumping off from the rocky outcrop onto the sand below, I had gotten about twenty feet along when the wave was half way up the beach. From all the many thousands of waves that I had seen come up the beach over the past twelve years, I mentally calculated its speed and height and guessed that, at best, it might just reach my ankles. Within seconds the thought "Oh, shit" was impacting on me as I was suddenly totally out of control, flippers in one hand, boogie board in the other and floating down some Amazonian river to a possible white hell. I could go on...... The point I want to make, however, is that I never panicked or later felt stupid or angry (or proud) with myself. I knew I was in real danger, but there was an acceptance to it. I had made a mistake in judgement, but would not judge myself whatever its outcome. To truly live "life at the edge" requires an equanimity or balance between safety and danger and knowing how (and a willingness) to engage either. One other point. I believe we should all try to live by Thoreau's quote "In wildness is the preservation of the world". As without, so within. The wildness within our own personal worlds has to be nurtured so that we don't entropy into becoming domesticated house cats or politicians passing legislation condemning our rain forests to charred hillsides. Our soul's survival requires it. Our society requires it. Jung writes: "...the lack of meaning in life is a soul-sickness whose full extent and full import our age has not yet begun to comprehend". May we all have healthy souls.