Tossed by the Sea of Life

Tossed by the Sea of Life

Your life may be an imperfect mess,but it is an imperfect mess that is perfectly divine – a work of sacred art. All your imperfections are perfectly placed for awakening. Your life story is your crucifix, and this moment is nothing less than salvation.” Jeff Foster

“Peter, how are you?” Tom asks jovially when we meet up at Baby Beach on Maui’s North Shore. He’s wearing a full-length wet suit and carrying his flippers and mask under one arm. With his tousled white hair, bushy eyebrows, and twinkling eyes he looks like he stepped out of a hobbit movie, except that he’s well over six feet tall and 75.

I respond hesitantly to his question. “I’m a little fragile today,” I say. Normally I would say “I’m fine.” It’s a big step for me to admit this.

Tom looks concerned. “What’s happening?” “A lot of grief has been coming up. I’ve been feeling the loss of so many people I love. I know it will pass, but right now I’m right in the middle of it.”

Tom knows that I’ve been through a turbulent time in the past few months. I’ve just been through a divorce and am struggling to find my footing.

“Well, a swim always helps. It’s good therapy.”

“Yeah, I’ll probably stay inside the reef today,” I say. I’ve left my flippers and mask on the beach because I only plan a short swim. Yesterday Tom and I swam about a half mile in the open ocean up towards Baldwin Beach, then back to where we started. We’ve been doing these swims for years, but this time we really got tossed around in the waves. We had to fight against a powerful rip current as we swam back in through the channel. We barely made it. Once inside, we swam to the very end of the beach, bumping over rocks until we landed on shore like two beached seals. It was great fun.

Today I’d like things a little calmer. I turn around, happy to see my friend Barry walking up to join us. He’s a gentle soul and joyful celebrator of life, tanned and fit from all the time he spends in the water or running miles on the beach with his dog. He’s the young one of our group, having just turned 70.

A moment later Max appears with his personal assistant Vilma, who helps steady him as he walks down to the water’s edge. Swiss-born Max is a legend in many parts of the world — a famous treasure hunter and adventurer who lived a glamorous life sailing around the globe on his custom built catamaran. Seven years ago Max was swimming in the Mediterranean when a powerboat ran over him, severing his right arm and leaving him with brain damage.

Max is in many ways the reason we are all here. His willingness to confront his demons is an inspiration to all of us.

One of the things that keeps him sane are his daily swims.

Max has a wide grin on his face. “Hello Tom,” he says in his accented English. “Hello Barry, Hello Peter.” We all come up to wish him well. Often he regales us with stories of famous treasure hunts, but today we head straight for the water. He is a big man, and has difficulty with his balance. We help him back into the water with his flippers and mask on. When it gets deep enough, he falls backward into the water and swims off, doing the sidestroke with his one arm. The others join him and soon all four are getting carried out through the channel and into the rough open sea.

I’m slower getting in, because I don’t plan a long swim, and am feeling a little sorry for myself. I don’t have my fins or my mask and snorkel, but I do have goggles and a swim cap to keep my head warm. As I wade into the cold water, Corina shows up beside me in her turquoise and blue wetsuit. She’s an attractive and spunky Swiss woman, who often swims with us. I’m very fond of her. We greet each other with a hug, then plunge into the water and start swimming towards the mouth of the channel. This is where all the waves that wash over the reef flow back out into the ocean through a gap about 20 feet across. Sometimes it can be a wild torrent as the water finds its way back to the sea. As we get closer to the channel, I notice that just being in the ocean has immediately changed my energy. I no longer feel the need to lick my wounds. Soon we’ll be at a point of no return, where the current will be too strong to swim back.

“I think I’ll go out,” Corina says, looking at the tossing rip current.

What the hell, I think. If she can do it, I can do it. Life is about taking risks. “I’ll go out with you,”I shout. Once we get through the channel, we have to swim through a shallow stretch of water where the waves start to curl up before breaking on the beach.

White foam crashes over our heads; the rocks are just a foot or two beneath us. We know that if we keep swimming for another 50 yards it will be a little calmer. With all the chop, it’s impossible to see where we’re going. We blindly head out through the breaking waves.

I soon forget about my problems as I struggle not to take in a lungful of water. Up and down, I’m tossed, up and down. “Don’t panic,” I tell myself. “Just keep swimming.” Finally it lets up. When I rise up on a wave I can see the others about 100 yards away, four heads bobbing in the water.

Side by side Corina and I swim towards them. I settle into a rhythm –  stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe; stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. She isn’t wearing fins either, but has a powerful kick that keeps her moving at the same speed as my freestyle stroke. It’s comforting to have someone else close by as we head further and further out. We’re swimming parallel to the beach, several hundred yards out. I look back. The people walking on it look like tiny little stick figures.

Every so often we tread water, the waves still tossing us around. The ocean is a luminous turquoise. It’s  not just on the surface, but extends beneath us as well. As I move my arms and legs to stay afloat, it feels like I’m enveloped in liquid velvet. Further out to sea the turquoise turns to a strip of deep navy blue as it stretches out towards the horizon. I can see white lines of surf breaking on a reef much further out. Back in the direction I came from I can seethe mountains of West Maui rise up from sea level to the clouds. Further off to the right lies the island of Molokai.

“It’s so beautiful,”Corina shouts over the wind. “I love it.” “It’s magnificent,” I call back. “How many get to see what we’re seeing? I’m so grateful.”

The four bobbing heads are getting a little closer. Someone reaches an arm high in the air and waves. We wave back. Then back to swimming in order to catch up. Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe; stroke stroke stroke, breathe. The water gurgles in my ears like twinkling chimes as it flows by. It becomes mesmerizing.

Half an hour later we meet up with them, just as they are about to turn around and swim back. We all laugh and cheer loudly like a bunch of kids as we join up far out in the ocean. Forget that we are four men in our seventies, a woman who is sixty-five, and a cheerful, petite thirtiesh-something young Lithuanian woman in great physical shape. Pretty amazing.

We all swim back towards the beach together. Max moves along at a steady pace with his big fins. Tom is covered from head to toe to maintain body warmth: black neoprene swim cap and black wetsuit; Barry is bareheaded and looks totally at home in the water; Corina swims remarkably fast doing the breaststroke. I’m thrilled to see I can keep up without fins. I was sure that I would trail far behind and become totally exhausted. So much for my fears. My daily swims over the past two years have served me well.

The shorebreak comes up quickly, and we all make our way through the surf to shallow water where we can touch bottom.       The challenge is always to get Max out of the ocean. Waves crash over him as we get his fins off. It takes several of us three tries before we can steady him on either side and make it to shore. For a moment he is face down in the water, pounded by the surf, but he doesn’t seem to mind it. In fact, he seems to quite enjoy it. Once we’re back on land Tom raises his arm and let’s out a primal yell. “Hooray! We made it!” Then he laughs and laughs. Max raises his one arm and roars. We all join in, yelling and laughing together.

Now, that’s therapy.  Gone are any feelings of sadness and depression; gone are all my worries and fears. Where did they go? Were they ever real?