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© Rick E. Mannerino
Articles
| Rick E. Mannerino, C.S. |
| (858) 274-8758 |
SURF LESSONS
CHRISTIAN SCIENCE SENTINEL
AUGUST 11, 2008
AUGUST 11, 2008
____________________________________________________________
| rickem@flash.net |
A SOULFUL DEMO
THE CHRISTIAN SCIENCE JOURNAL
JULY 2009
JULY 2009
____________________________________________________________
Skip calmly stroked into the wave, stood up, and instinctively slid down an elegantly drawn line in the water. His
surfboard positioning -- slotting the board's rail in the sweet spot of the wave, just ahead of the curl -- reminded me of
a pelican as it glides down the wave's face, catching the updraft as the wave folds toward the beach. With impeccable
timing the pelican will position itself inches from the water, trapping the wave's wind current by keeping its wings
spread, enabling it to accelerate down the line of the wave in a graceful glide. For both the surfer and the pelican, the
efficiency of the glide is dependent on their poise and balance along the ocean's surging surface.
As I continued to watch Skip, it seemed to me I was observing the timelessness of Soul -- a demonstration of
divine strength, grace, and vitality that defied the stereotypes of age. No one, I thought, has to surrender freedom
and joy with the advancing of solar years. We don't have to accept for ourselves, or for others, a state of resignation
to slowing down and sinking with age -- or a state of apathy toward learning and experiencing new things. We have the
God-given dominion to reject thoughts that suggest our abilities can diminish, that our expression of divine Life can
somehow fade with time. Mary Baker Eddy got it right when she wrote, "Each succeeding year unfolds wisdom,
beauty, and holiness" (Science and Health, p. 246), and "Men and women of riper years and larger lessons ought to
ripen into health and immortality, instead of lapsing into darkness or gloom" (p. 248).
As a younger surfer, I couldn't help but be impressed with the lesson I took from that two-hour session. I hope
that in another 25 years I could "bring it" on a wave just as Skip had that evening. And why not? The thrill that I and
countless other surfers get from being in rhythm with nature, from taking in the beauty of God's creation, and
expressing Life's strength and grace and flexibility, knows no age or limitation. We're always in perfect harmony with
that Life -- free and limitless in our expression of it.
Humbled by his soulful demonstration, I watched Skip carry his heavy board from the beach, up the stairs to the
top of the bluff.
A COMMON REMARK REGARDING SPORTS, especially from coaches, is how people can learn many of life’s
lessons through athletics.
In my case, surfing large waves actually taught me how to become a better healer. Two simple spiritual
realizations have been important:
lessons through athletics.
In my case, surfing large waves actually taught me how to become a better healer. Two simple spiritual
realizations have been important:
• Overcoming fear—not being
impressed by appearances when
facing challenges.
• Being humble—getting myself
out of the way, and putting it all
in God’s hands.
impressed by appearances when
facing challenges.
• Being humble—getting myself
out of the way, and putting it all
in God’s hands.
Fear can feel like a major obstacle when you’re paddling out into the ocean on a surfboard. There’s a saying,
“There are no atheists in a foxhole.” Well, I also doubt that there are many atheists facing waves that are pushing 20
feet in height! Out in the surf, everything is super-sized—visually and in terms of force. But just like approaching a
case in Christian Science healing, you can’t allow yourself to be overwhelmed or intimidated by the size of the
waves. If you let fear, anxiety, and impossibility creep in, thinking that it’s all up to you instead of God, you sink.
Once, when I was surfing near San Francisco, the waves were immense and there was an abnormally strong
crosscurrent that was flowing parallel to the beach. The paddle out was more than a quarter of a mile. At the end of
one of my rides, the wave I was on swallowed me up. What followed was a severe pounding as I was ground through
the wave’s “rinse cycle.” I ended up pinned against a sandbar and struggled in every way humanly possible to get
away, to no avail. Four or five more waves passed over me. Soon I was out of air, on the verge of passing out, and
choking on water. In that moment, I surrendered any sense of personal control and mentally cried out to God,
“This one is all Yours, and make it quick!” Immediately, I was released from the sandbar and made it to the surface,
taking in each breath of air with gratitude.
Since that experience, there have been challenges on land where I’ve felt I’ve prayed, taking every possible
metaphysical and physical step, but the situation has not yielded healing results. Then, in complete humility I’ve
said, “OK, Father, I’m done. This one is Yours . . . I know You can deal with it.” Each time I’ve approached my
prayers this way, problems have been quickly resolved.
On another occasion, I rushed to the beach after work and found a good channel, or rip current, that pulled me
out to sea with only 15 minutes of sunlight left. Just as I reached the outside peaks of the waves, a lone surfer was
paddling in toward the beach shaking his head. He told me that he’d been trying for over an hour to get to shore.
Moments later, a wave came through that pushed him in, so I figured I could go ahead.
Suddenly, I found myself alone with a thick blanket of fog and little visibility. I took off on a wave and “ate it”
(fell off my board) going down the wave’s face. Once I’d surfaced, I realized that I didn’t even know which direction
the beach was. (In normal conditions, once the sun is down you can see the lights on shore.) I had only one option—
turning to God for direction. The first step was to stop getting down on myself for being in this compromising
situation. Fearful thoughts about the possibility of spending the night drifting on the open water kept coming to
me. But I paused and prayed.
As soon as my thoughts became as quiet as my surroundings, I was able to ask, “Father, in which direction do I
need to paddle?” Then, I listened. The answer that came was to head toward my left. Fifteen minutes later, I was
greeted by a wave that rolled over my back and pushed me to shore.
What did I learn from that twilight trip to the beach? I’m sure I’m not the only one who has forged ahead with
enthusiasm, eager to take on a task, ignored the warning signs, and then landed in a rough spot. Good thing that
even those crazy moments can be opportunities to prove divine Love’s presence!
Good waves are the fruit of large storms, and riding them with dominion is an incredible rush—just as being a
witness to God’s active presence in the midst of “earth’s troubled, angry sea” is the ultimate thrill for me (Mary
Baker Eddy, Christian Science Hymnal, No. 253). This may require tenacity in paddling forward. But once the fog
of fear dissipates, it becomes easier to surf the natural flow of good.
“There are no atheists in a foxhole.” Well, I also doubt that there are many atheists facing waves that are pushing 20
feet in height! Out in the surf, everything is super-sized—visually and in terms of force. But just like approaching a
case in Christian Science healing, you can’t allow yourself to be overwhelmed or intimidated by the size of the
waves. If you let fear, anxiety, and impossibility creep in, thinking that it’s all up to you instead of God, you sink.
Once, when I was surfing near San Francisco, the waves were immense and there was an abnormally strong
crosscurrent that was flowing parallel to the beach. The paddle out was more than a quarter of a mile. At the end of
one of my rides, the wave I was on swallowed me up. What followed was a severe pounding as I was ground through
the wave’s “rinse cycle.” I ended up pinned against a sandbar and struggled in every way humanly possible to get
away, to no avail. Four or five more waves passed over me. Soon I was out of air, on the verge of passing out, and
choking on water. In that moment, I surrendered any sense of personal control and mentally cried out to God,
“This one is all Yours, and make it quick!” Immediately, I was released from the sandbar and made it to the surface,
taking in each breath of air with gratitude.
Since that experience, there have been challenges on land where I’ve felt I’ve prayed, taking every possible
metaphysical and physical step, but the situation has not yielded healing results. Then, in complete humility I’ve
said, “OK, Father, I’m done. This one is Yours . . . I know You can deal with it.” Each time I’ve approached my
prayers this way, problems have been quickly resolved.
On another occasion, I rushed to the beach after work and found a good channel, or rip current, that pulled me
out to sea with only 15 minutes of sunlight left. Just as I reached the outside peaks of the waves, a lone surfer was
paddling in toward the beach shaking his head. He told me that he’d been trying for over an hour to get to shore.
Moments later, a wave came through that pushed him in, so I figured I could go ahead.
Suddenly, I found myself alone with a thick blanket of fog and little visibility. I took off on a wave and “ate it”
(fell off my board) going down the wave’s face. Once I’d surfaced, I realized that I didn’t even know which direction
the beach was. (In normal conditions, once the sun is down you can see the lights on shore.) I had only one option—
turning to God for direction. The first step was to stop getting down on myself for being in this compromising
situation. Fearful thoughts about the possibility of spending the night drifting on the open water kept coming to
me. But I paused and prayed.
As soon as my thoughts became as quiet as my surroundings, I was able to ask, “Father, in which direction do I
need to paddle?” Then, I listened. The answer that came was to head toward my left. Fifteen minutes later, I was
greeted by a wave that rolled over my back and pushed me to shore.
What did I learn from that twilight trip to the beach? I’m sure I’m not the only one who has forged ahead with
enthusiasm, eager to take on a task, ignored the warning signs, and then landed in a rough spot. Good thing that
even those crazy moments can be opportunities to prove divine Love’s presence!
Good waves are the fruit of large storms, and riding them with dominion is an incredible rush—just as being a
witness to God’s active presence in the midst of “earth’s troubled, angry sea” is the ultimate thrill for me (Mary
Baker Eddy, Christian Science Hymnal, No. 253). This may require tenacity in paddling forward. But once the fog
of fear dissipates, it becomes easier to surf the natural flow of good.
ONE SUMMER EVENING at Pacific Beach as I paddled back
into the surf to catch another wave, I noticed a fellow surfer
riding toward me in a classic soul-arch stance: upright, back
arched, chest out, hips forward, like a matador when a bull
makes a pass. The surfer's technique was unlabored and elegant,
like nothing I'd ever seen before. After another glance, I
realized he was one of surfing's legends, Skip Frye, a wave-riding
master in his mid-sixties whose skills and innovation in shaping
surfboards have influenced several generations of the sport.
With his long hair, sun-seasoned face, and quiet demeanor, he
might go unnoticed on a beach boardwalk. But in the San Diego
surf, among a crowded lineup of wave seekers, he stood out as
the maestro.
into the surf to catch another wave, I noticed a fellow surfer
riding toward me in a classic soul-arch stance: upright, back
arched, chest out, hips forward, like a matador when a bull
makes a pass. The surfer's technique was unlabored and elegant,
like nothing I'd ever seen before. After another glance, I
realized he was one of surfing's legends, Skip Frye, a wave-riding
master in his mid-sixties whose skills and innovation in shaping
surfboards have influenced several generations of the sport.
With his long hair, sun-seasoned face, and quiet demeanor, he
might go unnoticed on a beach boardwalk. But in the San Diego
surf, among a crowded lineup of wave seekers, he stood out as
the maestro.
| Photo by Katharine H. Lee |