Challenging the Rip Tide at Black Sand Beach

Yesterday I went to a beach I had never been to before, with Dave (who works on the farm with me), on the back of his motorcycle. It was situated at the bottom of a winding road, through a relatively recent lava flow. From the top, it looked almost like an abandoned industrial area, and surprisingly, houses are selling there for about $500,000 a piece. Only a year or so ago (I think), most were going for $30,000. That's how fast prices are skyrocketing over here (though they've pretty much capped). Anyway, it was called Miloli'i, also known as the Last Fishing Village. It's populated my locals mostly, many who seem to be in touch with the "old ways," and who don't like to to see too many haoles (white people). Once we reached the parking lot, we walked for about fifteen minutes along a mostly rock trail, lined with wooden handrails made from surrounding trees. Before we came to the strip of black sand, the trail opened up to a point where there were no trees on the right hand side of us -- just tall waves approaching us with increasing momentum as they crashed violently onto the boulders before us. It was intimidating, like the rock wall was a mediator keeping the ocean from mercilessly attacking us. With each crash, it sounded as if an avalanche was being released -- the ground practically shook. There was something special about the whole scene, as I was in the midst of an ethereal beauty that seems to exist on a different plane than what I'm used to in California. It is effervescent here. The palm trees glowed with an orange hue against the backdrop of the mist topped mountain, and we made our way to the sandy shore. There, the waves fell onto the shore, stretching themselves out in exhaustion before the rip tide possessively pulled them back, the ocean collecting itself to hurl itself once more onto the compacted jet black sand. In the distance, plumes of white froth were rising thirty feet out of the air as larger waves were beat against the cliff side. After another set crashed and receded, I stripped to my bathing suit, ran and jumped into the water. I tried to situate myself in the place where most of the waves just begin to break, so I could achieve the greatest height possible as I rose with them, but the current was so strong that I was pulled into the ocean where there was no ground beneath my feet to push off of. I dismissed the short pang of anxiety of getting out without being pummeled, and just submitted to the water, letting the waves move through me, pushing and pulling me gently. They rose about three feet above my head before I naturally bobbed up to meet the crest, and then moved past.
In one moment, as a gigantic wall of water was heading right for me, I was reminded of a couple of dreams I've had lately, of unpredictable oceans delivering catastrophic tidal waves. In these dreams, instead of being on the shore, trying to run out of harm's way (as most of my other past dreams have involved), I have actually BEEN IN the water, rising and falling in the deep end, not even thinking about how I'm going to get out. And here I was in waking reality, mostly confident and patient, only slightly apprehensive. When it came time for me to come out, the crest of a large wave crashed past my head and moved me into the pebbly shallow area. The rip tide pulled like a force of gravity, making it hard for me to even attempt to take a step forward. As I looked behind me to see if there were any large waves coming, the strong force subsided as a medium sized one headed my way, and I was able to RUN as fast as I could to where my clothes were lying. It felt like coming off of an exhilarating, breathtaking rollercoaster ride. I was glad I was safe.
And now, my tide (whoops, I meant time, but tide works) has come, and I am being whisked away to Belize (Central America) to see one of my best friends of all time (Ilana). She has just finished her field study teaching permaculture to kids, and has a few week vacation. I am going to stay in her humble home in the country (in San Ignacio) and see if I can live just as simple and natural of a lifestyle as I am here. It's a one way ticket, leaving tonight. From there, who knows where I'll go. Maybe Costa Rica? I am FREE.
At Ke-ei beach a couple days ago, facing the mountain, I asked the island if I could come back to live and work again, and all I felt was the same opening in my chest that happens with each sunset, the influx of mana rising and moving through me, a source of energy that is limitless. It will rise and rise, making me stronger and stronger as long as I LET it. This will always be a place of power for me, I can always come back.
So, friends of Santa Cruz, I don't know when you'll see me again, because this is where it's at! I am going to travel the world, coming back to Hawaii to make money so I may go off again. I don't know for how long I'll do this, but for now that's the plan. Santa Cruz -- I love it. I will miss the redwoods, West Cliff, the farmer's market on Wednesdays with all that cheap, high quality organic produce, and all of the truly wonderful people I know. But it's just too expensive for me right now, and I want something new. I plan on seeing you all again though when I visit. And I will definitely keep sending the updates and hopefully some pictures soon too. You'll hear from me. Just because I am geographically distant doesn't mean I won't keep you close . . .