By Douglas Evan Weiss
Relationships are difficult. This is a universal maxim that anyone remotely swallowed up in any sort of relationship would probably agree with.
Relationships with people at work can be a blurry tirade of boundaries and judgements. Relationships with your kids are likely a constant volley of love versus absolute frustration, glazed with constant undertones of fear and concern. Relationships with one’s partner or significant other or spouse is a revolving buffet of challenges and traumas mixed with problem solving and compassion and hopeful repair. Heavy lifting. With relationships it seems like the only constant is that nothing comes cheap or easy. Nothing remains the same and all plans are fluid. Emotions are a bucket of wet cement that never dries. Someone is always wrong and there are no instructions.
While recently walking along a local stretch of road that runs parallel to the beach I stopped and watched the waves and considered what the ocean was doing this morning and wondered “what is my relationship with the ocean?”
The ocean is a lot. Vast and mysterious and cryptic. I can stand on the beach and look out into the horizon and catch the repetitive machine of waves crashing into the beach and even though I’ve witnessed this action a million times I can still be absolutely transfixed and in complete awe of this mesmerizing practice. So natural and so perfect. Even though proven to be scientifically sound this churning of water into an aquatic tube and sent plummeting into any random beach is an absolute daily miracle that solicites a bounty of unresolved emotions from me.
The ocean is a lot. How that kinetic energy travels thousands of miles across the vast geography of oceans, over many kilometers of depth and canyons and fauna and life to eventually arrive at a singular point of static land is an absolute marvel that still I am not comfortable with. Still it is mind blowing. Still the relentless energy and stubborn pursuit. Still the wet indifference. Still the separation. Still the mystery. The ocean is a lot. A daily around the clock miracle of water and pirates and devotees. And some people surf these waves.
And some people surf these waves.
In my flawed estimation the ocean is a furious landscape. It is not surprising that many cultures and myths consider the ocean unkind and dangerous. Even people surrounded by ocean (and perhaps because of this forced proximity) have a complex relationship with the ocean. A great unknown. If life is difficult and survival is a challenge and goods are sparse then why gamble with the great silent blue and whatever lurks inside it? Often cultures will employ a dual reality of reverence and caution.
“The Balinese recognize the oceans dual nature. It’s a source of sustenance and fertility but also a force that can cause natural disasters and take lives.” This quote from Ava Hull and her study of the ocean in Balinese culture. This complicated connection to nature as both provider and abuser is such the archetype for so many passionate relationships.
If you want to know the depths of hurt try falling in love.
If you want to know ecstasy and suffering fall in love with the ocean and don’t look back. Do not expect answers and do not expect sympathy and for sure wait for the hammer and the claws and the long kiss while being smashed and held down and pushed back and sucked out.
From the beach you cannot see much. The surface is a friendly mirage. A spectator can sit and watch the salt water arrive and rise up on cue. All that energy born from either Poles rammed into a solid mound of sand or a hard shelf of reef. The majesty of it all. The momentary relationship. Watching that singular explosive moment that will never happen again, yet is constantly happening. How far had that wave traveled? Now gone. The beach always wins.
The beach always wins.
It is beyond frightening. The violence is so real. The drama is so real. This absolute mass of water constantly moving. (The ocean is never still. Consider that…….). A cryptic language of tides and currents and swells. What is my relationship with this giant bucket of salt water, arrived from some unknown location and delivered to this exotic country? How do we feel about each other?
How do we feel about each other? How do we really feel about each other? Cause I love you madly but you also scare me a bit. Like often. And often during your tirades I don’t know what you are going to do or say or act. Cause often in the morning I don’t know what to expect. Sometimes you are kind and loving and soft. Other times you are isolated and cryptic and inaccessible. Some days we connect. Others we do not.
Are we broken? Without merit or future? Or is this simply the trajectory of all long term relationships? When I think about you I am helpless. And this weakened posture demands that I submit to you, and I hate that, and so ironically sometimes I hate you. You, this parcel to which I’ve given so much, and continue to do so, and I’ve no escape plan or alternative options; and I’ve no side hustles or secrets; and I’ve no faith in plans or motives or devices; and this submission is a dysfunctional bond yet perhaps all bonds are dysfunctional. Me standing here staring helplessly at you because I’ve no words of honest substance for you; because whatever shallow excuse or battered verse of poetry I relate is just further evidence of my weakened state while around you, and this admission makes me feel small and vulnerable, and if we are being truly honest then this vulnerability is my attempt at intimacy yet I feel that I am the only one talking in this relationship, while you just sit there like a wet sphinx and stare back at me with those crazy eyes, and I swear I notice a smirk on your lips, and this admission infuriates me, yet I am helpless to respond.
There is no way to win.
This relationship is fixed and tragic. I will forever come to you and you will arrogantly accept my overtures yet say nothing. Me with all my neurotic words and hours of therapy and practice. Me with my trainings and readings and revelations. Me with my friends and support and strategies. Me on the beach looking at you with wonder and hope and despair. Me shorter and fatter and younger and less wise. Me secretly hoping for grace and exit. This long dance simply wondering if the music ever ends.
Bagaimana ombak?
Somedays I love her. Other days I just cannot figure out how to. Is there something wrong with me…..?
