Ode to the Last Man Out

I always enjoyed being the last man out, the last enduring soul in a sea floating through space, alone in the most decadent and alive of domains. Fingers delicately pierced the tense surface of the iodized water, chest held high, head erect, merely the warmth of an amber luminescence cascading atop the depth of the oceans chill setting.

Perfect solitude is where my emotions collided, gleaming at the ball of fire plummeting far past the end of the world. I bobbed and floated on my six foot surfboard, my legs adorned with ragged shorts worn from years of gyrating and twisting in the oceans majestic and powerful waves. Every fucking day I expressed immense gratitude for the blessing of life in paradise; a paradise I discovered many years ago in the coastal beams of the West coast. 
Few individuals in the world are privileged or fortunate enough to partake in a moment where mind and universe collide in a spare few solitary minutes, converging utter oneness and clarity in a wasteland ocean. I, the last man out, reveled in these moments. Equipped with nothing but a surfboard and masses of water, I had stumbled upon sanctuary.

The major distinction between the last man out and every other surfer is that they demand further elevated emotion and brilliance from the sunset. They suck the bliss out of every last ray of light as it dissipates in the horizon. The experience is spiritual, enlightening and serene, as colors toss and careen from the only burning star. The last flash of light vanishes into the horizon, seconds turn to hours as time glazes into a melting candle of heat and wax silhouetting long palm trees. In these times I realized my undying love for the glistening golden state of California.

The last of the burning balls magenta and pink glory fade and night takes over. Circulating in the current far from the beach I opened my sight to a canopy of a star fired sky, alone in the presence of night with salty moisture soaking my skin. I was a singular being inhabiting a circular dome of brilliance and brevity. The last man stays waiting in a lively private ocean, lurking with any other sea creatures in dim light protruding through the darkness of speckled distant worlds.

When the sun disappears, an instantaneous shadowing blackness of space canvasses to shades of grey. Eyes adjust and pupils shutter close due to lack of light. The dark seas never welcomed the meek and worrisome, nor was I ever afraid to linger a while longer when crowds dispersed and sky’s turned to a viscous gooey black full of mystery. I was fully emboldened and enlightened in this moments, able to brood in thought, allowing my heart to skip in beats. I was more comfortable then I child in a swing as a large swell lifted me up ever so slightly, and caressed me down gently. My pulsating heart felt brave; a mind singular to place and time. I knew I belonged in this place. My silhouette melted to darkness and cast no shadow. I was an element of the oceans movement and rhythm. My one and only goal — to conquer the last wave of the day.

I lingered patiently in the dark awaiting the innuendo of energy, pursuing a mass of water that would liberate me, then take me of thought from all else this world. Aware of nothing but a half-submerged body in an inconsistent and perilous domain concentration must be focused and adamant to one task. In the absence of light my body trained over the years had become comfortable with situations of the unknown wonders of the sea. Intuition took hold from years of mastering waves, the soles of my feet lifted behind me and pores chilled with raised hairs covered lightly by salty dew. One arm stiffly rigged me to one side, swaying my floating board erect to the targeted blurry land. Motion and indivisibility were essential in attaining harmonious union with the larger mass. To this day I still do not know who is master over the other, the wave or the surfer. In that moment I gave thanks for this joyous pursuit of union between man and ocean, an emotion ignited years ago in the reckless soul of a fourteen year old boy. The liaison of his surfboard and the ocean was, and always will be, the definition of bliss to him.

The inexplicable force moved in the moonless night, with snakelike movements I smoothly dug deep into the water as the force moved increasingly powerful and inertia moved my body. Hands on board, I lifted into a cobra position as the force began to break and dissipate, to release energy so compressed and dense that the only natural consequence was for it to explode mobile might. Surfing is the act of riding an explosion and making it safely out of the impact zone. Alone I knew I would conquer this might and take on a ride of a life time.

Leveling and manning the disobedient energy I was master and commander of spontaneous erratic waters. Balancing and surfacing in line with the concave made, I asserted pressure from the soles of my calloused feet to push the slate of foam into liquid, a free flowing shadow sliding and skipping atop glistening dark waters. Carving and slicing rails, crashing water with foam in fiery passion and joy, I pumped lines I could only feel through instinct. I glided swifter than a swordfish and carved elegant and sinuous as an eel. With every con-caving lip of the wave I bottom turned and smashed sprays of displaced water, one after another the destructive blow satisfied my ravenous surfing soul.

The final section remaining; I convoked sufficient speed and rocketed into the dark misty air, grabbing for rail, holding on at zero gravity and preparing for impact. I soared… with a black starry sky my cinematic backdrop. Slowly, allowing gravity to take hold and bring me to the center of the earth, I felt my board touch liquid and my knees bend intuitively to cushion the landing. God.. this was rapture… This moment right here, was euphoria and bliss. A small fire had ignited inside my chest and extended warmth to my entire body from head to toe. The wave ended quaintly on the beach as I hopped of my board and fell on a foot of break. I collapsed on the sand as one does when they have given their all, my face plastered smack onto the granulated exfoliate. I laid wholly satiated feeling my leash being tugged at the ankle as the oceans tide sucked my board to and fro in the ocean, summoning me for more. I got up only to hop on my board and paddle out again. This was my sanctuary found on the coastal beams of the West Coast. This was my sublime home.