Hypnogogic

The run of swimming days continues with today being day three. I’m not planning to swim the next couple days but only time can tell. For all I will know, I’ll wake up tomorrow and I’ll already be swimming having been summoned in a dream. Honestly I feel like half of my dreams take place in the water or at least on the beach. It’s a good place to be.

Conditions are forecasted to be favorable again today. Small waves and little wind all day. I have an 11:00 meeting and I would like to squeeze in the swim beforehand but even if I can’t get out until afterwards, wind will be less than 5 knots. No matter, I manage to leave by 8:30 in between meetings just after walking my dog.

It’s looking like a beautiful morning and it’s already 62 degrees. Skies are mostly clear with the same wispy streaks of vapor painted across the sky as I saw yesterday. I get to the parking lot and start to walk down the stairs and the water looks perfect. I can see the waves breaking from the top of the stairs which either means the waves are large or the tide is low. Today it is definitely the later.

As I walk down the last bit of asphalt just before the sand, I wonder just when, if ever, they will repave this road. The asphalt is so coarse and almost sharp. They have to repave it eventually right? I remember this guy I crossed paths with on this road a year or so ago who claimed that he enjoyed the coarse texture as it massages his feet. At the time, I thought maybe I should just adjust my mindset, but right now I just can’t wrap my mind around how one can see this as a massage. It just isn’t. That guy’s feet must have been made of leather.

So I am relieved when I can step foot onto the sand - nice soft scrumptious sand. This day that was beautiful above this bluff just a few minutes ago is now even more beautiful. I don’t want to be one to say one natural environment is better than the other, but I do prefer the beach. The tide is very low - under a foot - so there is lots and lots of beach. The sun comes from the south and shines over the bluff to create a sort of waterfall-like effect where it looks like sunlight is literally spilling down over the edge of the cliff.

I walk out into the water and, like yesterday, small waves are breaking far outside. The water feels cold. It is definitely clear. Just when I think I am past the surf, a set of waves breaks about 20 feet in front of me. I decide to dive under them instead of walk through. So I dive into the first onslaught of whitewater and then just keep swimming and continue to dive beneath the next few breaking waves. I am happy to have waves to dive under because it makes me feel like I actually have a reason to be swimming.

The cold wraps itself around my face and the back of my head. As I swim south, I feel the energy drain out of my legs and it feels like it takes all that I have to keep kicking. Yesterday felt warmer then the day before and I thought we were on an upward trend but today feels the coldest of all three. The buoys have reported the same 60 degrees all three days. Things start to mellow right about the time I pass the little lifeguard station at the bottom of the stairs. My energy returns and the water around my skin feels like it has finally accepted me into its fold.

I’m swimming toward the source of this big beautiful light. Everything around me is blue and soft. Yes I am cold but what I see in front of my eyes makes this all worth it. The sun shines on the water, the sand and continues to spill over the cliffs. Everything looks clean and pure and washed in this glow of positive energy. I stop and look south towards the headlands. The water is calm here but I see a line of wave that moves south over the big rocks and into the cliffs. I can see the spray of its curling lip glisten in the light. The waves are small enough to be unintimidating but large enough to make a good splash.

When I reach the end of the beach and lift my head above the water and remove my goggles from my eyes, I can still see that light spilling over the cliff. It’s coming down right here in the crevice that is carved out about 100 feet from the beach and half way before reaching the western edge of the point. It looks magical. I have never seen it quite like this. I wonder just how much longer this could possibly last. I take some pictures with a sense of urgency because it feels like someone might turn off the faucet at any moment. Does this happen often and I’m just not here to see it? Possible but unlikely. I am here a lot.

The water is all sloshing about right here. Small wakes are moving in every direction it seems. As I am wading here awestruck, I notice that my foot touches the floor. Wow this rarely happens and reminds me of last Spring when the sand collected right about here and could be touched by my feet at low tide. It’s a wild feeling because I am out pretty far.

I soon head north and aim myself for the big lifeguard tower below the Ritz. I swim and swim and swim. I watch, and feel, kelp trees drift past and behind me. I watch the cloud textures above the horizon on my left. I notice the cold ebb and flow. There are a couple spots that feel downright warm but it’s mostly pretty cold. For how long can I keep this up? I think I could go longer than I think.

I confuse my thoughts with the shadows I watch beneath me. It’s just hard to tell here exactly what is on the inside from my outsides. Where do I end and the water begin? I try not to overthink this. In fact, I don’t want to know. I enjoy the wonderment of it all. I enjoy having no idea who it is that I am and sharing this moment with the water as an extension of myself. I am caught in this hypnogogic state as if between sleep and wakefulness.

Now don’t think that all this stream of conscious rambling implies that I am comfortable. I am not comfortable. It’s fucking cold here. But, I am delighted. I am so happy to be having this experience. Yeah I am happy that it will soon be over and I will be able to drink some hot coffee and eat warm oatmeal. However this experience here is what will make that coffee and oatmeal so cathartic.