Life of a Beach Bum (Part 2)

In my beach bum fantasy, the cool (male) beach bum enjoys himself by playing in the ocean, hanging out with friends sipping Coronas, having a chick at times, and by idling his time people watching, and mesmerized by the ocean and its’ sea life. Idle time is what separates a beach bum from the average guy. The regular guy works a lot, only sees the beach during vacations, and has heaps of responsibilities (this pretty much describes me, at least who I was). On the other hand, for the beach bum, idle time is a necessary part of his existence, it defines him, it is the essence of his being; and, idle time allows him to engage in activities that others cannot, not because of a lack of desire, but because of mountains of responsibilities that comes with the regular lifestyle. You may ask, “What good is idle time? There is so much to be done, idleness is such a waste of time!” The kind of questions that little voice in my head wants to repeat over and over, like a mantra. Like many of you, my upbringing didn’t allow for idleness, nor did my work and family life. Idleness was, and for many still is, synonymous with being lazy, inactive, and unoccupied; strong words that should put-off any reasonable person from being idle.

I am not put-off. In fact, I get to explore idleness because of my situation - alone in a foreign country; Mexico during the summer months with no English speaking people around can be lonely. Oh, I don’t have to be idle, for there are many tasks around the house that could be done and keep me mind busy, so as not to think too much, but I chose to not let the chores run my life. Also, I really don’t have to stay here; I could go back to Portland, but I stay to practice aloneness. I am not equating aloneness with idleness, but in my situation one very easily brings on the other. So back to idleness, which for me does not mean inactivity nor unoccupied time; on the contrary, for me it is an active time, a time for introspection; a time for quietly observing nature and looking for something new and amazing each day; it is a time to enjoy moments of quiet solitude; and a time to work at bringing all this together in a practice of self-acceptance, and acceptance of what is.

Time alone is giving me a chance to find and learn new ways to express and process my feelings. Right now, for me, a new process I am using is to write down my feelings in an abstract form, so here is a poem I wrote that helped me cope with the loneliness I feel when Sharon leaves.


Loneliness
It’s a palpable sensation, but I don’t see anything.
The thick tropical air and ocean winds are themselves the same;
yet, they carry something new, but as old as time.
A new sensation, rolling, roiling waves, soundless crashing waves,
rises and falls in me, like the steady, constant ocean tide.
Things have changed.

Clouds still drift overhead, wind propelled, blown apart.
As they are, so am I, transformed into fragments, wisps of my former self.
The summer rains fall, the jungle greens, vines grow and cover all.
Creeping, unseen, in an insidious way, this change seeps into me;
through my skin, into my veins, settling in my chest, in my heart, in me.
Things are different.

Pelicans continue to glide over the ocean surface, and egrets still skillfully catch fish in the surf.
They are unconcerned, uncaring of the change that has come to our shared place.
Jacks, roosterfish, needlefish still stream through the waves, rejoicing their lives.
Swimming, eating, playing, and maybe loving;
Unlike them, I am chained by the change; unlike them, rejoicing is lost.
Paradise transformed.

Beach comers arrive, unaware, the change unseen, the new sensation unfelt.
They play on the beach, washed by the waves, warmed by the sun.
They are safe; they do not feel, see any changes; all appears normal.
Children play, adults eat and drink, all seems right, as it should be;
Yet, all this pains me, threatens to drown me in tidal waves of unwanted feelings.
A new sensation flows here.

I watch their gaiety, hear their laughter, and see their flirtations.
Lovers, young and old, walk the beach, sharing a need for each other.
Seeking each other’s touch, their fingers intertwine in loving caresses.
Desiring eyes gaze at each other, wanting, needing . . .
Their happiness is not contagious, it does not enter me, nor does it soothe me, as I had hoped;
The change has come.

Routine provides no comfort, my chores are burdens, a deep dullness hangs over all.
Hunger has left me; food is tasteless and provides little nourishment.
All that was good is gone, leaving behind dry, stale crumbs.
My eyes still see, but do not observe; my ears hear, but all is noise.
My brain moves on in a slow, laborious march through dense, blinding grayness.
A distorted place is left behind.

My body of lead, with paralyzed limbs, moves in slow motion through this new place.
Strength has faded, gracefulness has left me, lightness is gone.
Futility swirls around me, like a deadly, dense, black smoke;
falling from the heavens, settling in me.
Sunlight shoots down, each photon heavy, cold, penetrating deep.
The sunlight’s coldness burns me, scars me; it provides no warmth, it does not heal.
All is changed.