Abounding in Grace

I’m out of the house just after 6:00 this morning. Overcast skies and I’m beginning to forget what the sky looks like above the clouds. Is it even still blue? The air feels a bit drier and there is not as much water on my car as yesterday.

I don’t have any red lights until Selva just before turning into the parking lot. Once I see the ocean it looks smoother today, undoubtedly because I’m here early, but it’s not exactly silky smooth either. I can see that buoy that I swam to yesterday way out there.

I head down the stairs and in spite of the early hour and cloudy skies, the ground feels warm beneath my feet but my torso is cool in the misty air. I only see one other person on the steps. The swell lines roll in from the distance but are less pronounced than yesterday.

It’s very low tide and recently rising from a -1.2. A jogger runs by and we acknowledge each other. He says, “hey, I thought I had the beach reserved this morning.” Ha! Sure feels like it.

The water still feels nice on my feet. It has a cool but gentle sensation. As I enter the water and go deeper, my body quickly adjusts. When I put on my goggles which are tinted, the environment around me seems to go dark.

I swim south and almost jump out of my skin when a stalk of kelp rises into my field of vision. I quickly realize it is not a shark and resume my normal stroke.

I watch the houses silently slide by as my perspective pivots on this moving axis. Sometimes I see a collection of houses east and north, sometimes east and south. Sometimes I raise my head to see the entire expanse all the way to the end of the beach. I don’t see any lights on. My guess is that most of these houses are probably not even occupied since I am sure they are secondary residences and I doubt they are listed on AirBnB.

The water starts to feel more agitated as I approach the south end of the swim. There are a couple cold spots here too, but the cold is relative to the warmer water. It’s still all good.

I see my boundary rocks standing high above the water in the low tide and a couple surfers are starting a session and heading out to the surf. Especially with my goggles on, it all feels so dark as if we are just entering first light.

I’m heading north now and emptying my mind into the water around me. The water feels light and I sometimes notice the foam rolling down my face that is more air than water. The horizon is all over the place and I try to find it in the midst of a million wakes. Below me the water is super dark. My body is surrounded by a milky grey mass that sits on top of a black void that falls into nowhere.

It’s dark and abounding in grace. The environment is sparse and empty but has everything I need right now and more. It has a fierce but nurturing energy I can feel passing all around and through me. It has no words but never stops speaking. It wants to connect with me.

While the current does not feel as strong as it has my last couple swims, it still seems like I make my way up the beach quickly. Before I know it I can see one of the northern buoys in the distance. I point myself to it. I haven’t yet checked up on the in shore buoys planted this week. The ocean surface is definitely more calm on this end of the beach.

I swim a little past the buoy and then turn around and swim right to it on my way back. It’s Big Bob. There is another one a little further southeast. Wait…it’s Bob Marley. I saw him further up the beach on Tuesday. They either moved him or remarked the buoys. Interesting.

I swim the rest of my “route” fairly close to shore and can clearly watch the waves break not far from where I am. Once I’m lined up with my usual spot, I veer sharply inland and soon see a sandy bottom beneath me and waves behind me. Then I stand up and walk on in to dry sand.

As I look south along to the end of the beach, everything looks misty - much more so than when I started. As I dry off at my car, it starts to actively drizzle and I use my wipers all the way down PCH.