Zen
N WIND 10 TO 15 KT...WITH GUSTS TO 20 KT. WIND WAVES 3 FT. NW SWELL 6 FT AT 8 SECONDS.
I went and listened to Jaimal Yogis read excerpts from his book "Saltwater Buddha"...
As I mentioned I read the book and enjoyed it...
I also liked listening to another surfer's take on the act...
Listening without commenting or interupting or adding...
As you would in a typical interaction with another surfer...
A comment from the previous post asked for an honest review of the book...
And to be completely honest I can only say I enjoyed the book...
It's reading did not involve any earth shattering revelations for me...
Nor do I expect that that was Yogis' intent or expectation...
Rather, the book is a series of small tales of his journey in life...
Some tales address surfing, some zen, some just daily struggles & successes...
Yogis' karmic progression from aspiring Buddhist monk...
To Ocean Beach surf bum (his words)...
His growing recognition of the nature of waves, surf & zen...
The conflicts, self doubt and overcoming fear...
Were the parts of the book I enjoyed the most perhaps...
His journey, as are all of our journeys, was a different path than mine...
But no less or more valid, compelling, interesting or boring...
Finding one's way in the world and to have surfing as part of it...
Is as much a gift as it is a curse...
Depending on which way the wind is blowing...
Whether a storm is raging near or far from home...
Whether you can let a perfect wave pass...
Or give it to another without rancor or regret...
If you can accept imperfection as perfection...
In your life as much as in your surfing...
I don't know if this qualifies as a review...
Here's an excerpt from "Saltwater Buddha" that Jaimal read from:
So I tried to let my judgments dissolve. For the rest
of the evening, as the leathered man and I exchanged
waves, I tried to be a five-year-old in my mother’s garden
with a fairy-catching net. And maybe it was the
lighting, or the power of suggestion, or the adrenaline
that Third Bay catalyzed. But for brief moments that
evening, it almost seemed like each thing around
me—not just the clouds, but the stones, the trees, the
wind—was a living organism.
“You have to ask permission when you come in
here,” the man said, paddling back toward me.
“Some people don’t. They get washed up on the
rocks.”
Bobbing on the fingertips of Kanaloa, his words
carried some gravitas.
I asked permission.
posted by Doc at 11:46 AM
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