Bodysurfing Baptismal

As with many of my brethren, I was a late convert. Adults are cursed with responsibility and an accelerated experience of time. We are afforded precious few opportunities to slow down the tick of the clock with novel moments, so when I felt bodysurfing for the first time I was awakened anew. Like any good worship, I was filled with immense grandeur and simultaneously I felt small in the endless power of a churning Sea. So began my daily devotion.

The Earth rotates a splinter of the sun into view and I am in my Monday’s best, still damp from yesterday’s harvest. With the cool breeze of Eurus at my back I wade into Neptune’s green cathedral. The pews rest empty in this still, dim hour. Upon the alter I’ll rest my bones for a moment. My pupils stretch to inhale the glory of it all. When my spirit has found the rhythm of Neptune’s heart I stroke to offer up my meager sacrifice. Through mercy I am admitted to the technicolor temple of stained glass. Nirvana. As the Sea wills it, so shall it be. With a tight window, I have to whisper my devotion from the warming sand and steal glances from grace. I carry the peace with me or it carries me from crest to crest.



Thanks to Morgan Launer @morgan_ml for the cover photo for this piece

Published by

Swell Lines Magazine

Bodysurfing yarns woven 'tween crest & trough