The Ocean of Possibilities

On some days, I rush down to The Ocean of Possibilities,

Surfboard under my arm, declaring, “Today’s the day I’ll catch those waves!”

And sometimes I do.

Those are the days I plunge wholeheartedly into the water, gasping at the cold,

Gleefully immersing myself in the sheer awesomeness of it all.

On those days, I get swept along by the Waves of Opportunity,

Riding each one in perfect flow and synchronicity.

Exhilarated, purposeful and free.

Those are the times I feel most alive.

But on other days, when I get down to The Ocean, the moment has passed.

The Waves, so alluring from afar, fizzle out, leaving an endless expanse of flatness.

I sit on the shore, scanning the horizon for ripples, trying to anticipate when the next swell will appear.

But it never does.

So, I return home, hours later, heavy-hearted and deflated.

On rare days, I get down to The Ocean at first light,

Determined to catch as many Waves as possible before the next day’s Waves begin to form.

But each time I try to catch one, it vanishes from sight,

Reappearing moments later – close by, but frustratingly elusive.

And I return home empty-handed.

On some days, I catch The Biggest Wave of All.

Triumphantly, I glide towards the shoreline, thinking I’ve finally got it sussed,

When The Wave ditches me.

It drags me under, churns me up, spins me round,

Tumbling over and over, arms and legs flailing.

Until it spits me out, eyes blinded, brain addled, lungs gasping for air.

Relentlessly, over and over.

Each time, determined to outwit my mighty opponent,

I scramble back onto my steed, brace myself and try again.

And each time, The Ocean’s the victor,

Playfully mocking my futile attempts to gain some semblance of control

Until I’m too exhausted to take any more.

On other days, I paddle far, far out beyond the place where The Waves break.

I sit on my board and watch them surging towards the shore.

Admiring their beauty from afar,

Longing to harness their power and soar through the foamy unknown,

Yet, some familiar force holds me back.

On those days, I watch the other surfers –

Some of them catch The Waves and dance skilfully to shore,

Others precariously wobble, then plunge into the salty waters.

A few straddle their boards, gazing out to the horizon, a far-away look in their eyes.

I see myself in all of them.

And none of them.

On some days, I plunge resolutely into the murky waters before I realise The Waves aren’t there any more.

I bob alone in the vastness, scanning the horizon for signs of life,

Until eventually I give up and paddle back to shore, part-relieved, part-disappointed.

Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to walk out into The Ocean without my board.

To wait for The Waves to crash over my head and just let go.

Allow their icy tendrils to drag me down and swallow me up.

Surrender,

Sink,

Dissolve.

On most days, I don’t make it down to The Ocean at all.

Instead, I gaze longingly out of the window,

Marvelling at the endless Possibilities,

Desperate to fling myself once more into the water’s tantalizing depths.

To catch the biggest and best Waves of Opportunity.

To be at one with the sea.

But instead, I remain stuck, inert, immobile.

Landlocked by my relentless mind,

Just waiting for the strength to wade back in.