Day 500

I want to explain why it is that even after 500 days I will continue to swim; why this daily immersion into the waters of Roaring Beach is still important enough for me to continue unabated.

In early April there is to be a colloquium of gathered nature writers discussing the issue of art and political environmental activism; a subject very near to my heart. To attend, though, would mean giving up on this sincere quest to reach three years, three months, three weeks and three days or a total of 1212 continuous, unbroken surfs at the beach that is my home.

Ultimately, the final number is not important. But what is, is the seriousness required to stay with a ritualised discipline long enough for a transformation to take place. When, how or what this might be I will admit to having absolutely no idea. My heart, however, urges me to accept this mystery and just get on with the practice.

In large part, though, it is because I have not yet remembered the forgotten language of the flippered fairy penguins and dolphins of the ocean.

As for the fairy penguin in the photo….. I rescued the little fellow from the surf four days ago when it swam up next to my boogie board, all exhausted from malnutrition, and asked for a lift into the shore. I felt honoured.

After an overnight of drying out in a box full of fluffy blankets, a friend and I tried to release him/her back into the surf, but the penguin only wanted to crawl into the nearest cubby hole and sleep. Sensing it was still too weak, I took the bird to Leslie “the sea bird lady” for her to look after until the penguin’s undernourished body has gained enough weight for it to survive another attempt at finding enough fish to feed itself. She sexed it and found out it was a “he”.

Hopefully, at our next encounter in the water, this little guy will be chipper enough for a decent conversation.

As for the colloquium, my hope is that in a few years another one will happen and I will receive a second invitation to attend. There is every possibility that at the next colloquium I just might have something worthwhile to talk about; something grounded in an authenticity that comes from intimately knowing the particulars of the place where one dwells; something where “the sense of place” includes the languages of the place.