Scar generatorJonesing for a real ass-busting, arm weary, surf. Momma nature isnt particularly cooperating, maybe shes revolted by my damn hair abuse. In a few days (August da first) Kaleo James will come to the island. He, M, K, M's Mom, and M's brother T. I think my home will be full, dontcha know? Tomorrow or somewhere thereabouts, I will go purchase the container to ship household items from Cali to Honolulu. Not cheap, not at all. Surfboard purchases will be put on hold. *Sigh*
Besides the wonderful expansion of time and space when you are lucky enough to get envelloped by H20, the consequences of a mistimed surf can leave scars. And scars represent you are alive. And being truly alive, rocks. Physical scars are reminders of life; life being lived, chances being taken. They have a tale behid them; maybe one of great heroics, perhaps (as is usually my case) stoopidity. In aging, they gain in stature, but minimize in size. We forget the pain, but relish in the reliving.
Mental scars are greatly different. They pierce the soul of your being, creating a void where happiness generally lived. Those are never good, maybe for learning, or educating some as to how they do not want to be, or relate to another being on this big blue marble home. Surfing's mental scars can give you doubt; and that will hurt you or worse. Doubt in the line up can make you a hazard to yourself and others. The greater the challenge, the greater the reward, but the dearer the consequence of a mistake.
Mistakes leave impressions. Impressions that shape your outlook. On the day, on life. If I didnt have water to quench my heart and soul, scars of terrible times would take me away, and vanquish me to nothingness. Impressions of love, of desire. Mistakes create smarts. "I wont do that again" is a premium comment in my surfing life.
Each scar reminds me of sights and smells that reverb in the stereo of my warped mindset. I can literally smell the crimson colored blood streaking down the side of my temple from one particularly impressive reef bounce. The looks of beach-goers as I scrambled up the beach to see just what I did this time. The blackness of the hole in the side of my head. Chemical smells of the ER room. (Me and the ER, we got a thing going on) Sometimes I think they pre-print forms just for me.
The scars taken from experience of joy in frolic of Momma Natures arms; are nothing comapred to the scars we level on her. I (we) all could do less scarring of Mom Nature. Matter of fact, less scarring of humanity as a whole could use some additions. It is a small price to pay for the rewards allowed by her greatness.
Lack of surf has made me dry-rot on the brain.
But the scars remain.
Aloha.
2 comments:
Clouds I might have looked at as I soul searched, but never my scars!
Perspective is everything, my friend; thank you for a new one!
alan
Yep physical wounds heal most times, and the scars remind us, sometimes they fade but we never totally forget how we got them.
Your dead on with there being a difference between mental wounds, that turn to scars, those we don’t always remember or realize how we got them, and they don’t fade nearly as fast as the physical. We seem to have to go in deep to find those, to remember how they got there and we usually need help of some kind to help them fade, whether it be a mentor, a therapist…sometimes a mind altering escape, and then when that’s over the scars rip back open to bleed fresh.
I’m glad you have surfing, I’m glad I have painting, I think today I am just glad for a lot of things.
Hang ten for me Mark and I'll throw down a painting for you. (I know that’s probably a really cliché thing to say but it’s all I’ve got; reached in the brain and came up empty on surfer slang…)
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