The absolute pure solice of finding a part of the Cape peninsula devoid of most humans is complete bliss.
Sitting around a fire, having ones on your own braai, a simple thin sausage boerie roll. No utensils just the raw moment of basic needs met. When storms rage across the Cape its the surfers that are meeting the storms head on. When i surfed like a frothing grom i was all over the winter raging weather. Ready to drop like a cork into the heart of the maelstrom cauldron. Very comfortable in my abilities and equipment.
Now on the big days to observe is sufficient. Oh how times change.
The moment of age we dont always realise stalks up on us quickly. Suddenly we are gripped, vice like, in a pythons stranglehold of age & our own weaknesses, disintegrations rough grasp. It is the realisation that our abilities not carefully performed & practiced, leave us vulnerable to our passions. our passions not carefully executed leave us vulnerable within this advancing heuristic storm fronts path.
As a surfer drops like a cork into the maelstrom of a wild raging sea. Any passion involving raw nature & honed ability needs continued practice to stay alive.
We must simply keep practicing our raw art. This Winter wild storm that rages within a storm. We also drop like a cork into the maelstrom of this frenetic life. We keep honing our skills & rather than getting overwhelmed by the currents. We must become skilled at harnessing the energy of the ocean currents around us - a heuristic advance.
