Waves

I woke to the sound of my husband’s alarm-the sound of waves on the shore with faint seagull sounds in the background. I thought of the memories of waves in my life. I spent most of my life in landlocked areas-the Midwest, Wisconsin, Minnesota and Ohio, and in the northern part of India-Lucknow. The interaction with waves was mostly holiday related- the beach in Florida, the Bahamas, Hawaii, California, even Long Beach in New York , the beach in Puri in India, the beach in Bali.

The warm beaches of holidays were the fun waves. Soft sand, blue water, gently lapping waves. Hawaii evokes visions of sunbathing, jetskiing, dolphin and sting ray boats, parasailing, banana boats, shells, sandy toes. Florida, the water was cold. New York, the waves were angry on a cold March day. The beach in Puri had sand, camels, dogs and colorful vendors, but the water was prohibited due to dangerous undertows. The beaches in Bali were touristy, but still achingly beautiful and the sunsets were amazing. The Bahamas were reggae filled, with hair braiding and shell searching.

Humans are drawn to water for sustenance, to oceans for exploration. The scuba diver, the surfer, the fisherman all have their own watery universes. I thought about such seafolk, people who lived in coastal areas, generations of fisherman and lobstermen, or whalers in earlier times. Folks for whom the waves were a part of their lives and their collective conscious.

I enjoyed sitting on the beach, watching the waves. There was always a feeling of peace staring at the ever moving water- so like life. The continuous, sinous movement, drawing back, coming forth, sometimes gently, sometimes urgently, reaching for toes and feet, pulling back and rushing forward in a unique, rhythmic way.

On a warm morning in California I drove to Rockaway Beach to watch the waves in the early morning light. I parked and walked onto a railed in deck. To my right and left were craggy hillocks and cliffs, directly in front of me a misty sky with sunshine peeking through. The surf was high and you could watch a few surfers riding the waves. You could see the surf rising like an ocean monarch, and the wet suited folks teetering on their surfboards along its foamy contours. I picked up my phone and turned left to take pictures of the seagulls circling the cliffs, and I sensed movement behind me. From the corner of my eye I saw a wall of grey and the wave was above me and crashed down on me. My phone went flying, the wave retreated and I realized I was drenched. I picked up my phone, looked at my dripping clothes and I just laughed. Sneaky surf, mischievous wave. I trudged back to my car and in the parking lot a group of laborers said “Lady that wave really got you!” I laughed again.

The waves that wash over you, sometimes they surprise you. The waves of grief, punctuated by tears,  as the dirt is dropped on your mother’s grave. The wave of nostalgia when a song or a smell brings memories flooding back of times gone. The wave of anger when you see injustice, The wave of sadness when you see the empty shoe of the drowned Iraqi refugee child. The wave of humiliation when you get publicly shamed The waves of joy as you watch your family around the dinner table.

I remember the waves at football and baseball games expressing the universal solidarity of the crowd. The waves of celebrities-the Queen of England, or Jackie Kennedy. The wave of acknowledgement, the frantic wave in a crowded  stadium-we’re here, we’re waving! I remember the waves as I left places- home or family visits-the waves from the train and the plane and the car. The waves became smaller as we drew away.

If life is an ocean, are we waves in it? Bobbing up and down, glinting with sunshine, reaching for the moon with our tides. Are we flowing with currents, sustaining the world around us? Are we seeking some shore?

I listen to the sound of the morning alarm of the sound of waves. Travelling on waves of the mind, through memory and experience, the waves of life.