The
ocean is calling, its salty fog whispers twining around my wrists, my ankle, my
mind. I could stay here in the redwoods, these towering elders that watch over
me while I sleep; but the fog tendrils tug and I imagine I can hear the waves
breathing in and out on the shore. I grab my helmet and a scarf for the wind
chill, my bike lock key and cell phone, a couple of dollars for the bus back
and my swim suit.
Downhill. Calves tight over my pedals, I lean into each
curve and only brake as much as I need to. Pretending I’m on a racehorse, or a
motorcycle, or maybe I’m flying – I whoop with the joy and the redwood mist
gently soaks up the echo as I speed closer and closer to the coast. I am
birthed out of the forest onto a panorama that steals the breath of locals and
tourists alike when it’s stripped of its blanket of marine layer precipitation:
Monterey Bay and the Pacific Ocean. Today, the marine layer coats my cheek like
a wet exhale, and I grin anyway, cherishing my experience of this place when
the fair-weather visitors deem it too gray and gloomy to blow their money on.
Still downhill, yet more cautiously as I pedal alongside
traffic and cross busy intersections, avoiding potholes and pedestrians, the
elders replaced with oaks and invasive eucalyptus. Over the railroad tracks,
past one of the natural food stores and a couple of taquerias, and I’m there.
The Pacific Ocean as manifested by Monterey Bay lies open-armed in front of me,
the fog so dense that there’s no way to even guess the city of Monterey bustles
directly across the bay. Kelp and sea grass cover the beach I look down on from
a coastal cliff. The surfers are dancing the waves just a cove or two over, and
an older man watching his dog romp in the sand is the only other person near
the water.
I trot down the stairs and kick off my sandals to be
greeted by cold, grainy sand under my feet. Shivering without from the chill
and within from anticipation, I strip down to my suit. No matter how many times
I find myself here, I can never rush into the water I long for without pausing.
Feet firmly planted, arms at my sides or raised to the sky: a moment of thanks,
of gratitude, that the ocean is always ready to catch me in expansive arms,
that all I have to do is take the plunge and I will be held by a presence as
deep as the night sky and no less comforting in its magnitude.
I breathe once more, fog above me and water before me,
grin once more, and run into the waves.
Let yourself be silently drawn
by the strange pull
of what you truly love.
It will not lead you astray.
- Rumi