Feral Surfing: Bush Surfing the Wilds

Aloha Tribe,

I've been thinking a lot about Feral Surfing lately. And, surfing, a lot. I'm feeling called, to go, out there. Somewhere. Not, for the perfect wave, but more so, for the perfect ride. The ride of my own soul. I"m finding that I'm changing inside. And, out. Brought about by the training  Darrick Doerner is giving me. He's introducing me to new things. New sensations. New feelings. Like bringing music to my surfing.

It's as though the clock is ticking backwards, making me younger with each passing hour of training. My body is responding. So, is my mind. I'm feeling the changes. Embracing them. And finding they are calling my spirit to yell with ecstatic yearning, twirling feet, and light movements.

This, of course, is deeply and profoundly effecting my surfing, bringing a sense of subtle movement within movements of stillness to my riding style, never before felt by me, yet, drawing me further along this adventureous step into the wilds.

The waves, they call to me now, constantly. In every sleeping moment, in each waking second. Whispering to me, sharing tales of unknown mysteries, longings, and desires.

I've chores to do today, yet, I seek instead, in a few moments, to cast aside all, turning to my cute orange vw bug, accepting the call of the swell.

Closing my blue eyes for but a second, I see an eternity of surfing movements in my mind, feel them in my body, surrender to them in my spirit.

Last night, I watched In God's Hands again. That surfing movie makes me smile. And, speaks to me. I wish I had been in it. It makes me long to be in a surf movie. I'd give anything to be in one. For, what fun. Yet, movies speak of harnesses, and, I surf as a wild filly mustang. Alone. Out there.

I'm changing. I feel it. My path is opening before me in the unexplored bush off the secret charts of Feral Surfing. One girl, one bag, one board. Alone. Drawn towards internal perfection through external mastery. The depths of such exploration, limitless. The treasure, boundless. Yet, just like the Count of Monte Cristo, I've already found it. Now, all that matters, is what I do with it.

With that, I smile. Heeding the flow.

Bodaciosuly Stoked,

Lily of the Valley