We must accept we are there and settle enough so we may be carried by the deep – Mark Nepo

Particles

Water is significant in my life for many reasons. Some, I can’t begin to explain. What is irrefutable is that the old Marine lathered me in it from an early age. I am most at peace on it. Despite being raised a son of the Gulf, I am not a strong swimmer. The pure volume of experiences has led to many precarious situations over the years; That underdeveloped skill waiting to be tested. None more harrowing than wade fishing, alone, at Emerald Isle in North Carolina. After delivering umpteen lectures to my wife and children regarding the perils of the rip, I failed to heed my own warning.

It was low tide when I entered the surf, that waking summer morning. The water was crystal clear. Beautiful, white sand bars presented themselves as welcoming beaches. I strolled through the chilly water of the Atlantic and made my way toward the inlet where the Bogue Sound empties into the ocean. The steady current, where the waters mingled, surely held the key to a struggle with a prize, or two.

Early morning turned mid and as the kids would be waking soon, I decided I’d call it even for the time being. The tide was steadily rising. I could see the current ripping through the trough that was created from the Sounds’ entrance into the surf. Still, I was a mere twenty yards from shore. Evaluating the long, safe trek that I could retrace to return home, I opted for the path of the hare.

Not knowing the depth of the water, but assuming it was not over my head, I eased into the flow. Suddenly, the bottom dropped out from under me. As quick as a sprinter from the blocks, I was whisked sideways. Though the lesson of turning myself over to the tide presented itself, I ignored it and started to swim towards the bank. I was so close.

Before long, I realized I had to shed my gear. I abandoned rod, reel, and all things sacred. Giving every ounce of energy I had, I fought to reach land. For what seemed like ever, I made no progress. Then, I saw him.

Ghost white legs sticking out, bird like, from tacky shorts. Head adorned with a wide brim hat and sporting sunglasses, he looked like any other, northern, beachcomber. Yet, there was something about him. Failing to offer help, or advice, he just waited, staring. Motionless, he stood yards from me as I drowned.

Though I was literally in a fight for my life, I was mesmerized by the stranger. Then, almost ready to give up, I, miraculously, found myself just a few body lengths from the shore. Staring at his black shoes and depleted of strength, I found one last ounce of will and slapped a hand on solid ground.

Exhausted, but alive, I lay there, face down. I’m not sure how long I stayed there, prostrate and thankful. Eventually, I got to my knees and started to rise. Exiting my fog, I remembered the man. I looked up and down the peninsula. He was gone.

Limbs of jelly, I labored down the beach to the cabin. Head hanging like that of a beaten hound dog, I entered, retold my tale and limped off to bed. I remained there for the majority of the day, completely spent. Only years later did I come back to the mysterious figure.

It’s possible, he was just a passer by who watched, dumbfounded, as the idiot in front of him flailed about. I’ve never felt that. For years, I accepted that it was the Grimm Reaper standing silent and unhelpful, waiting to collect a tortured soul. Today, I ponder a different possibility. Could it have been the Lord?

In the midst of my struggle, I started to give into the fact that I wasn’t going to make it. I was doomed to drown yards from shore. The lunacy of the situation, my lectures given, the ease with which I could have safely waded home, and my stubborn resistance to letting the current carry me to the safety of the shallows, almost made me laugh before I died. And then, the stranger appeared.

Losing sight of the foolishness of my behavior and my imminent demise, I became focused on the man. Was he going to stand there and watch me drown? I was outraged. How could he not offer assistance? Was he just watching so he could tell the authorities what he’d witnessed? Where to find the body? Suddenly, I realized I was so much closer to shore. The change of my focus had allowed me to forget that I couldn’t go on. Was it then, without a word, that He carried me?

We are all just waves in an infinite ocean. We rise, fall and crash, just to re-enter and rebuild somewhere in the deep. There are times when our ego, impatience and stubbornness will not allow us to ride the tide to safety. Even then, we are carried if our work is not done.

Enter the water and when you struggle to stay afloat, accept that our control is a myth.

Ride

William

Sent from my iPhone