Unafraid - May 30 2026

 

Unafraid

May 30 2026

Waves are different out at sea.

Not breakers

with wisps of salty spray

boiling off their tips

and lashed by the wind.

Not chop or surf

or tidal surge.

And not the calm water

on a torpid day

somewhere in the tropics.

Where the glassy sea rises and falls

almost indiscernibly

as languid waves pass through,

like a living creature

taking slow measured breaths.

Perhaps a jungle cat

crouching in the underbrush

stalking its prey,

or the heartbeat

of long-lived creature

who has no need to rush.

In the open ocean

great rollers

sweep across the surface,

rising as high as a 10 story building

then steadily bottoming out.

Floating in the sun-warmed water

out of sight of land

and all alone

in its staggering immensity

you would hear a low-pitched rumble,

the background noise

that comes from the heart of the earth;

would feel gently rocked

in its amniotic embrace

and oddly unafraid.

I long for that distant sea.

Where boundaries dissolve.

Where urgency sloughs off

a time-worn body,

slipping away

and disappearing

into the deep black depths.

Lost at sea, they’ll say.

The man who fell overboard

and hoped he wouldn’t be saved.

I suppose this could be taken either as a recounting of the ego dissolution experienced by a mind on psychotropic drugs, or the escape fantasy of someone feeling overwhelmed by life. Perhaps even suicidal.

But it’s neither. Rather, it was inspired by a recent story I heard on The Moth podcast. The image the storyteller Amanda Burrill so beautifully evokes has stuck with me all day, and I felt compelled to try to reproduce that feeling in my own words, as well as use it as a jumping off point for my own tangential musings. I don’t have a link, but it’s included in the May 29th (2026) edition of the podcast. You can google that, as well as “Amanda Burrill”: such an intimidating and highly accomplished woman that I’m sure her biography will put you as much to shame as it did me!

I actually quite dislike the ocean. Except maybe the view from a distance, or the hypnotic sound of surf. I don’t like its saltiness. I don’t like the cadaverous smell. I find the unusual buoyancy disconcerting. And its power and immensity scare me. I’m an inland lake person: fresh sweet water (I know, bears shit in it, I pee, and fish ooze their slime  … but never mind!), and never out of sight of shore.