The Breaking Wave - Chapter 11 - Aware Energy

Fear? Is that what it is? I’m not sure, but curiosity overcomes it and when I arrive at the Breaking Wave on Friday night, there’s a line of people waiting for seats. Dylan’s at the far end of the counter, in front of the woman with the tattoos on her arm, preparing an order of drunken prawns – a house specialty.

Holding up two fresh and lively prawns, he displays them with a smile to the folks sitting at the counter. Drops them ceremoniously into a tall glass jar, where a rain of sake stuns them into slow motion, then paralysis as the vapors overcome their senses. Dylan quickly peels them and slices them into delicate pearly fans of flesh, which he arranges on a bed of shredded radish. Hands them across the counter to his friend.

After a while, Dylan greets me and starts preparing something. His choice. Fresh Striped Sea Bass. Suzuki. Slicing the shimmering white fish into leaf thin slices and arranging them on a bed of crushed ice, he shakes red pepper flakes over the dish and hands it over the counter. That’s followed by a small dish of citrusy ponzu sauce to accent the mild flavor of the Sea Bass.

Dylan says, “Sea Bass is my favorite. If you’re attentive and perceptive, you can learn a lot from it.”
-- Whatever. Hey, I have another question, Dylan.
“Shoot.”
-- Given the powerful forces that you say are responsible for constructing and maintaining my misperceptions, what chance do I have of freeing myself from their grip?
Dylan says, “All I can tell you is that you do have a chance. Just start now, and stop wasting time.”
-- Do you really think I can do that, Dylan?
“That depends on you alone, along with some chance factors. It can happen in an instant, or it can take years. And if you’re a complete blockhead, you might wander this Earth in a fog until the day you die.”
-- I like the idea of doing it in an instant.
“Well, you never know, but don’t bet your sushi money on it.”
-- You aren’t much of a motivator.
Dylan says, “Sorry. I’m just a humble sushi chef. But I’ll try harder. Here, try this clam miso soup – on the house.”
-- Thanks Dylan. So I’m stuck here? The way I am? Is that really a problem?
“Pretty much so, until you realize what you really are.”
-- What am I?
“Hmm. It’s not so easy to say, but think of your being as a process of aware energy happening, plus some other stuff.”
-- Oh yeah?
“Yeah. And with just a slight shift in orientation, you’ll find that you feel less like a solid thing and more like aware energy.”
-- So, what’s the deal with aware energy?
“Don’t worry about that for now. And try not to think too much – thinking won’t get you anywhere except tied up in knots.”
-- That sounds like a big problem. I think all the time.
“That’s my point. But still, it’s possible.”
-- Really? I mean, that sounds impossible to me. If I’m trapped in an illusion created by my mind, and thought just locks me deeper into it, how can I ever escape?
Dylan says, “Well, the answer is implied in the question. If you’re alert, you’ll get it.”
-- Uh. Another beer please. Or a green tea. Whatever. On second thought, I’m out of here. Thanks Dylan. See you next week.

The Breaking Wave - Chapter 10 - Intense Appreciation

The next time I show up at the Breaking Wave, Dylan’s a blur of energy keeping everyone happy, sushi wise. A newcomer orders a Sizzling Pig Roll. Dylan shoots him an oblique look. “What? Sizzling Pig Roll? What’s that?”

The customer tells him. Rice with smoked salmon, bacon, tomato, thousand island dressing. Battered and deep fried. Dylan smiles brightly. “You don’t say. Well, in that case I have a suggestion. There’s a nice chain restaurant not far from here. Do yourself a favor and get over there as fast as you can and order a deep fried BLT before they run out. And be sure to tell them Dylan sent you.”

The customer looks pleased, says thanks and leaves. I tell Dylan that I don’t think I could have handled things that well. Dylan sets a small plate with three pearly slices of sea bream with lemon slices in front of me, shakes his head and says, “Emotions are just another ingredient of mind. You wouldn’t think they’d bother you, because they’re just interpretations of energy.”

-- I have good ones and bad ones. The good ones are great; the bad ones suck.
“You might change your opinion about that one of these days.”
-- That the bad ones suck?
“No. That’s obvious. But consider fear, which keeps you from challenging the dominance of the mind.”
-- Not so good….
“You said it. It constantly mutes your behavior and imposes a virtual paralysis on your potential for creative action, limiting your freedom and deadening you to experience in this magnificent realm. But transcending fear is possible.”
-- How? Doesn’t that take an awful lot of time? Maybe I should just give everything up and become a hermit. I’ve heard that detachment is important.
“Not like that…you don’t need to embrace separation and denial from the people and things of this world.”
-- That’s a relief. I always thought that the idea of giving up all attachments was kind of strange.
“Good call. Because what’s most important to understand is this: The only useful ‘detachment’ is detachment from the misperceptions that our minds spin for us.”
-- That’s all? That doesn’t sound so bad.
“Oh, it isn’t so bad. It just isn’t as easy as it sounds and might take a while.”
-- Okay, but what should I do in the meantime?
“Best I can tell you is this: Approach everything with the understanding that it all has a fleeting, changing nature.”
-- Which means?
“Which means, approach all of your experience, and I mean everything with intense appreciation and high regard, because it’s all pretty amazing. And it can all change in a flash. In fact it does, incessantly.”
-- That sounds good. Great in fact. But from what you say, I’m not sure I’m up to it.
“I’m not sure either. That’s why I’m deconstructing this impossible to conceptualize concept of illusion for you. Bite size pieces, like sushi. Here – try this spicy tuna hand roll. It’s made with just a touch of Chipotle sauce.”
-- Cool. Thanks. Damn, that’s tasty.
“That’s the spirit. Eat your sushi, ride some waves.”

The Breaking Wave - Chapter 9 - The Real, Old Sea

Something in me doesn’t want any part of this, and it’s not that I disagree with Dylan. I want to know the things he knows. But at the same time, I just want a simple life. Dylan means disturbance. His comments tonight about mind and society being part of the same thing leave me feeling anxious and when I get home afterwards I fall asleep almost immediately. Soon I’m dreaming.

In my dream I’m being awakened by an alarm. It’s still dark, five thirty, and nobody else is up. I pull on jeans, tee-shirt. In the kitchen, I eat a maple bar, drink a glass of milk. Eat another maple bar. Grab my board, wetsuit, and backpack and head down the stairs to the garage, then bike it to the beach. I’m sixteen, still in high school.

Now I’m walking across cold sand in early morning fog, wet cold feet stepping around the sand crabs. I stop, towel change into my wetsuit, drop my board in the water, push out into the waves. Paddle quickly through the shore break, duck diving twice. Feel the foggy gray chill, hear wet wave sounds slapping on sand. Feel salty cold water on my face, hands, feet, but it’s warming in the space between wetsuit and body. Paddle faster to move out beyond.

I’m thinking, seagulls call me, they’re my friends. I’m paddling toward a calm place, into the real old world. Whales know this even though they live in schools. They haven’t forgotten. I’m in the foggy air with the gulls and in the water with the whales. Whales dive deep. I duck dive under waves. This place is really old, really real. Nobody tells me this.

I don’t know why there is anything. I mean, why there is anything at all instead of just nothing. But the old real breeze comes, blows on me.

I put my face in the water. I’m blowing bubbles out my nose into the ocean. Salty. Wet. Cold. The gulls are calling. Some of the sea falls out through my nose, out of my mouth. The sea air goes back in my nose. I’m beyond the waves now. Sound of shore break. Salty water squishes under my belly. I breathe fog, paddle to stay in place against the current.

Board isn’t old, isn’t real. School is in a new, dry place. School isn’t real, isn’t old. The fog there in the morning is real and old though. Whales are singing now, I can hear them with my head in the water, the real old songs.

I see my friends coming down the beach. They’re in the water, paddling out. They see me, motion to me. They’re catching waves, standing up, riding. They laugh at me. I can’t stay out here with my face in the water listening to real old things.

So after school I go to see this doctor dude, Max. Everything is screwed up, I tell him. There’s tons of bacteria in the water now because of the runoff from yesterday’s rain. Beach is closed until further notice. I hate to wear clothes. So I take my clothes off whenever I think I can get away with it, but that bothers people. Max listens, agrees. Says to try to hang in there. Maybe he can tell me why there’s something instead of nothing.

That’s all I remember of the dream. In the morning I awaken early, shake off the residue of the dream, put my board in the back of my pickup, and head for the beach.

The Breaking Wave - Chapter 8 - Consensus Indoctrination

I’ve been busy at work and haven’t had time to visit the Breaking Wave for a couple of weeks. Well, not that busy. More like uncomfortable. I can handle the idea of my self being some kind of an illusion. Kind of a cool, radical idea. But Dylan’s serious, from what I can tell. Like, if I went along with what he’s suggesting, I wouldn’t be me anymore and I’m not sure I want that. Or maybe I do, because tonight I find myself back at the Breaking Wave. When I sit down at the counter Dylan greets me with a lecture on the origins of sushi.

Dylan says, “Although most people in this country think that the word sushi implies the pristine, sometimes jewel like slices of fresh, raw seafood that adorn small mounds of rice, the word actually refers to any dish made with lightly vinegared rice. Sushi had its origins in Southeast Asia over 1500 years ago. At that time, people would preserve fish by pressing it, using heavy stones, between layers of salt and rice for several months. The fermented fish that resulted was eaten; the rice was thrown away.”

-- Aargh. I think I like your sushi better. Anyway Dylan, let’s talk about something else.
“Okay, enough fish stories; let’s go back to self. Another reason that the sense of self is so tenacious is that it – the sense of a controlling ‘I’ – is supported and reinforced by society. And that’s a tremendous amount of reinforcement.”
-- That’s distressing. I feel outnumbered. Or maybe outgunned.
“Get used to it. Or, do something about it. But until then, that’s life.”
-- Okay. Wait – I mean, why’s that?
“Because there is an unbroken flow of mutual influence between each seemingly individual mind and the social reality.”

Dylan pauses while he slices the translucent white flesh of a squid into strips, laying perfect rectangles on two pads of rice and placing them on a wooden tray. Then, pinching a mound of pungent green Wasabi into a small mountain he sets it next to a tangle of pink pickled ginger before handing the tray across the counter.

-- Thanks, Dylan.
“My pleasure. And here’s something else. All of your knowledge and experience is socially mediated.”
-- What are you saying? Like, I learned everything from other people?
“Sort of. But I’m talking about something much more extreme.”
-- What’s that?
“Just this: From the moment you entered this world, you never had the opportunity to experience your original nature outside of a pervasive social, cultural, context; it was taught, imprinted, foisted on you from your first gasp of air. And even before that, in your lair inside the womb.”
-- That’s disturbing, Dylan.
“You’re right. Especially when you consider that the entire process involved – the whole mysterious, awesome, terrifying, wonderful thing – came from people like us who were also unknowingly existing in a state of delusion, and living in a society that actively re-enforces it.”
-- I think I need another beer.
“I understand. This one’s on the house.”

The Breaking Wave - Chapter 7 - Phantom Illusion

I’m bouncing between my mostly pretty cool life on one hand and something vaguely disturbing on the other and I’m not sure I want to deal with this. For the next few nights I hang out at the Killer Whale Tavern, avoiding Dylan, trying to hold on to something familiar. That doesn’t last long though and by Friday night I find myself heading over to the Breaking Wave.

This town is a popular stop on the world championship surfing tour, and the event, being held this week, has brought many top surfers to the Breaking Wave. Several of them, including some leading contenders for the title, seem to be friends of Dylan’s. Awed by the skill of some of these guys, I just watch and listen, feeling temporarily invisible. But early bedtime is the rule for most of them for the next few days, so it’s not long before things quiet down as they drift out.

Finally Dylan and I have a chance to talk. Dylan arranges an order of marinated herring roe, placing clusters of the salty yellow gems on pads of rice, securing them firmly with narrow bands of seaweed, and finally showering flakes of shaved dried bonito over them before handing the wooden tray over the counter.

-- Thanks, man. That looks great. And I’ll have a beer, too. I’m feeling a bit annoyed with myself. Why aren’t I doing what those guys are?
“Same reason they’re not doing what you are. You get what you focus on.”
-- That’s scary.
“Potentially, but not necessarily. The realm of mind can be about as terrifying as it gets.”
-- I hear you. Anyway, go ahead. Terrify me.
Dylan says, “My pleasure. Try this: the Illusion of Self handroll.
-- Illusion of Self, eh? I’m not sure I’m ready, but go ahead.
“Certainly, my friend: Another illusion created by mind is your sense of yourself as a permanent, separate, egocentric entity. You think you are an ‘I’.”
-- Of course I do. That’s me. You have a problem with that?
“Nope, just a bit of ancient wisdom. The fact is, you’re something very different, something very difficult to put into words.”
-- Something different? Like what?
“Here’s my point: You think you’re actually you, but you’re really an ongoing process.”
-- So, I don’t really exist?
“Oh, you exist. It’s just that your experience of the being that you are is limited unnecessarily by your sense of self.”
-- I don’t get it. How can I be limited by my self, Dylan?
“Very simple. The self is just an impermanent construction – a constellation of thought and memory in all of its variations that forms the basis of your experience of self. Out of that, mind has created an illusion of continuity that you experience as a controller, an ego, an ‘I’.”
-- Cool. You make it sound like I’m some kind of a phantom or something.
Dylan says, “Glad you think so, because your sense of yourself as strictly an encapsulated, autonomous person is the greatest and most painful of misperceptions, one that has you in a stranglehold from which you, like most of humanity, have yet to escape, or maybe I should say outgrow.”
-- Aren’t you being overly dramatic Dylan?
“Not at all. Taking that self – something that has no intrinsic reality – seriously is the source of an endless web of unsatisfactory experience.”
Excusing himself for a moment, Dylan goes through the door leading to the back room, and returns quickly carrying a black ceramic dish that contains a small silvery fish. Pushing the dish across the counter, he pantomimes lifting the fish with his fingers and dropping it in his upturned mouth. I’m slightly ill at the thought.
-- Eat that? You’re kidding, right?
“Not at all. The live Silver fish is quite a treat. Go ahead.”
-- No way.
“Okay, my squeamish friend. Suit yourself – but just realize that you’re succumbing to a limited version of the vast primal energy matrix, reducing pure potential to what you experience as a fixed, encapsulated self – one that spins endlessly between pleasure and pain in this seemingly material world.”
Dylan nudges the black dish with the Silver fish toward me again, a glint and a challenge in his eye.
“Just try this.”

The Breaking Wave - Chapter 6 - Less Than Everything

Not having all the answers somehow appeals to me but nevertheless I keep going back to The Breaking Wave. The next time I show up there, Dylan’s delivering a monologue as I take a seat at the bar.

Dylan says, “The tastiest large clams are the Mirugai, also known as Geoducks. They’re prized by sushi aficionados for the mildly sweet flavor and unique crunchy texture of the flesh of their long, siphon necks, and the best ones are found in the pacific northwest, ensconced happily in sand or mud. To harvest them, divers unceremoniously blast them loose with jets of water from high pressure hoses. And although they can live for some time out of water, in my opinion it’s best to keep them alive in a tank of cold salt water. Preparing them for sushi or sashimi is easy – just immerse them in boiling water for several seconds, remove the black skin, and chill on ice to firm the flesh.”

Dylan selects one of the nearly foot long necks from the display case and lays it out on his cutting board. Hitting the tendril of flesh with the flat side of his knife blade, he frowns in disgust at the minimal reaction. Tossing it aside, he selects another, thwacks it smartly, and nods in satisfaction as the siphon instantly curls in response. Diagonally slicing thin but substantial slices, he scores the edges, rendering several pinkish yellow slabs, finally sprinkling them with Hawaiian sea salt and fresh lemon juice.

Handing one to me Dylan says, “Try this, I think you’ll like it.”
-- Thanks. Hmm. Tastes like…clam.
“Exactly my point.”
-- So what else is on the menu today?
Dylan says, “Something quite tasty: Illusion of Permanence sushi.”
-- Are you serious? Illusion of permanence?
“Yeah. The misleading perception of solidity and permanence of our material world. Here – taste this.”
-- Tasty. So you’re talking about how everything is energy, waves and particles, right?
“That’s a gross interpretation, but yeah, something like that. Vibrating strings of energy, potential for action, whatever. Physics doesn’t actually know anything about the ultimate nature of reality – it just has some theories that it can’t even test. But, yeah, loosely speaking, everything is energy, sort of. Or action - action and change. Anyway, mind makes that basic stuff seem solid and permanent. But mind isn’t anything, either. Which is not to say there’s nothing out there, or right here. There is; it’s just that it’s weird.”
-- As, for example?
“Hard to say, but the primal reality is nothing like this, although this is part of it. Before it’s translated by your senses, it’s just energy or whatever; and science doesn’t really know what underlies that. It can’t account for even the simple fact that there’s something, even the tiniest vibration, as opposed to absolutely nothing.”
-- I’ve kind of suspected that. But what’s so wrong with experiencing things as solid and permanent? I’ve experienced some bodies that I wouldn’t want any other way.
“Of course you have. This is a phenomenal world, so you’re going to experience all kinds of things that you like and don’t like and are indifferent about. My point, however, is that you’re suffering from a massive misinterpretation, and you’d be better off, and far happier, if you understood that completely.”
-- Okay, I’ll try. So, what’s the misinterpretation?
“Well, it’s something like this, but not exactly: Your mind, or mind and body, acts as a tuner or filter, selecting out of primal energy in all its complexity a narrow, manageable slice that makes it possible for you to survive in this particular time space world.”
-- Actually, that sounds useful. So what’s the problem?
“Well, there’s a major side effect that you aren’t aware of, and haven’t yet learned how to manage.”
-- What would that be?
“Just this: In your mundane life, you’re stuck in that particular interpretation, and you’ll remain there until you choose to experience a better one.”
-- Stuck? So what? I’m surviving. Life is good, except for the stuff that bothers me. And I accept that there’s more out there than I can sense; I’m cool with that. Why would I want to experience more? Seems like it would just be confusing.
“Experiencing a wider sensory range is mostly irrelevant to my point.”

Dylan’s preparing an order of soy marinated Ahi tuna with kelp and Wasabi root. Carefully evaluating the tuna with an even gaze, he slices it into chunks with his gleaming knife.

-- Anyway, what’s the problem with wanting some things to stay the way they are?
Dylan says, “Because they can’t. The truth is, change is all that is going on here. You’re trying to grasp a process as if it were a thing. All of the things you think are things, are actually events. Some things stay the way they seem to be for a relatively long time; others are like fleeting phantoms.”
-- You are freaking me out, Dylan.
“Naturally. That’s to be expected.”
-- Here’s what I don’t get: If seeing how things really are is so difficult, why should I even bother trying?
“Because it’s well worth the trouble, my friend. Of course, it’s your call. But just remember,” Dylan says, glancing at the slices of blood red tuna lined up on the counter in front of him. “You can’t stay in this world very long, so don’t waste even a moment.”

The Breaking Wave - Chapter 5 - Strange Ultimate

Several days later a late afternoon offshore breeze has picked up. There are only a few of us in the water just south of the pier, mostly grouped together, trying to stay in position. One lone figure is further out, waiting patiently for the larger swell that will begin to break earlier, in the deeper water.

The surf has been crossed up and incoherent, and I’m thinking about calling it a day but before I do the first decent wave of the afternoon passes. The figure outside is positioned perfectly to catch the second of the set, and as he sails by me I realize that it’s Dylan.

Later, when I’m changing in the parking lot, Dylan stops by on his way to his truck. We chat for a while about the waves and the new board I’m shaping for him, and as he turns to walk away I remember the question I wanted to ask him. I’m still feeling super mellow, so I almost don’t ask, but it comes out anyway.

-- Hey, Dylan. You didn’t answer my question the other day.
“What question was that, my friend?”
-- If what you’re saying is true, why is it so hard to get it? I mean, I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t feel any different.
Dylan says, “That’s a good question. Keep asking it.”
-- You’re a big help.
Dylan looks at me like I’m senseless. “Okay, I’ll try to make it easy for you. But believe me, you’ve already taken the first step by asking questions.”
-- That’s great, but I still don’t see why it’s so hard to get what you’re saying. Seems like it should be easy, you know?
“Think of it this way: Could you, or anyone, describe the infinite complexity of our own mundane world in a meaningful way to someone who has never been here? Could you even convey the feeling of riding a wave to someone who has never done it?”
-- Doubtful. I wouldn’t know where to start.
“Exactly. Language is limited and imprecise, so the best we can do is point, speak in metaphors. My words are never adequate.”
-- You’re telling me. But you carve awesome carrot flowers.
“Thanks. I’ll teach you if you’re really interested.”
-- Should I be?
“Depends on you. Like anything else, it has immense value if approached the right way.”
-- So, what’s the right way? If you have the answer…
Dylan says, “I don’t know, my friend. For example, mind tells you it has answers to unanswerable questions about ultimate reality. It doesn’t. Not even close. It has no actual knowledge or experience of ultimates, such as the source of creation of the universe. And knowing that, you should realize that anyone who claims to know those things is a fraud, a liar, or a deluded fool.”
-- Wait – why can’t mind know the answers?
“Because there aren’t any, not ones that we can ever know, anyway.”
-- So why does mind tell us that it has the answers?
“Well, it thinks it does, sort of. Not that it can really think; it’s just a machine that tries to maintain credibility by acting like it knows.”
-- Then why do we believe it?
“Are you kidding? We totally identify with it. We think it’s our self, our being. And, beyond that, thinking we have the answers helps us keep fear of the unknown at bay.”

A seagull circling over our heads drops a clamshell on the pavement next to us. The gull lands, examines the clam, and finding it still tightly shut picks it up, flies over and drops it again, lands and checks it out. Finding it unopened again, the gull loses interest and flies off.

Dylan shrugs and continues, “If you observe closely, you’ll see that people waste tremendous energy on useless speculation about unknowable things, then waste even more time contending over and defending the speculations. It’s an endless cycle.”
-- Screw that. But Dylan, I’m starting to feel overwhelmed. The universe is way more powerful, more experienced, than I am.
“Yeah, of course. It’s been around forever. But you have no idea of the power inherent in your own role in the universe. As the experiencer you’re in charge of creating new interpretations. The question is, are you up to it?
-- I don’t know, but yeah, I guess so.

After securing his board in the bed of his pickup, Dylan turns and looks directly at me. “Good call, my friend. You don’t fully realize it yet, but you’re part of something huge, awesome, in this life. You can’t begin to imagine the scope, the depth of the mystery. And you could spend a lifetime trying to figure out how to deal with it, on your own.”

The Breaking Wave - Chapter 4 - Darkness Obliterate

I’m recovering from a sore throat that I picked up last week surfing after a storm in runoff infested waters and don’t feel like surfing after work today. Dylan’s talk about making better interpretations has been on my mind and it appeals to me, seems possible, but I don’t know. I have no idea, really. By the end of the afternoon I’m bored though, so I walk over to the Breaking Wave.

Dylan’s two protégés, the twin sisters Alexandra and Nicole, are working today. After I seat myself at the sushi bar, Nicole takes my order for miso soup while Alexandra prepares a hot green tea.

Dylan is carving an ornate flower out of a chunk of carrot.
-- Where did you learn to do that, Dylan?
“Sushi chef school, of course. Where else?”
-- Who knows? I thought maybe you had been an apprentice to some master sushi chef or something.
“Well, I was, but he wasn’t into carrot flowers.”
-- Oh yeah? What was he into?
“Fresh fish. Riding big waves. Impermanence. And some other stuff.”
-- Other stuff like what?
“Stick around, you’ll find out.”
-- And what about impermanence? You make it sound as if we’re running out of time.
“You never know. This could all end in a flash, before you ever realize what you really are.
-- No way…
“Yep. Why, does that bother you?”
-- Yeah. Of course I want to know what I am. I don’t like the idea of not knowing something so basic, being in the dark.
Dylan says, “No kidding. But you’re not alone. Humanity’s been living in darkness, massive planetary ignorance. But that’s changing….”
-- How?
“Don’t worry about that. Just keep in mind that now is your time, so why not wake up and do your part to obliterate the darkness, add to the light.”
-- But if it’s all right here, how come you have to tell me about it? Why can’t I just see it for myself?
“Good question. Nobody’s stopping you, as far as I can see.”

Dylan becomes absorbed in preparing an order of live scallops with lime and hot chili for another customer, so I head on home.

The Breaking Wave - Chapter 3 - Carnival Sonambulist

I find myself back at the Breaking Wave the next night, and I know it’s not just for the sushi. My gut says Dylan’s on to something. I like the way he strips things down, sees through surfaces, and I’m intrigued by what he said about freedom. Not trying to get me to join a cult or something. Maybe he just appeals to the anarchist in me.

Dylan’s tending to the sizzling mahogany slices of unagi – fresh water eel – that he’s heating on his small charcoal grill. They’re crispy and slightly charred on the edges, moist and tender inside.

Dylan says, “Eel is cooked twice; once in early preparation, then later, just before serving. The first time, it’s cooked over hard, aromatic oak, and then steamed to get rid of some of the fat. Then, just before serving, it’s brushed with eel sauce, and grilled again.”

“To make eel sauce, put the head and bones and whatever else remains after cutting out the fillets into a pot with water, soy, sake, and sweet rice wine, and simmer for up to three days, reducing it to capture the essence of eel.”

-- Uh, sweet.
“Yes, unlike your situation, which, while not altogether hopeless, is nevertheless precarious.”
-- Why’s that?
“Because you’re like a somnambulist, with just a slim chance of waking up.”
-- That doesn’t sound good. How slim a chance?
“About as much as a blackjack player in Vegas. The life you experience now is about as real as a dream about your reflection in a hall of mirrors in a carnival in a casino. But you can experience a more primal reality by radically changing the way you use your mind. By seeing it for what it is.”
-- Seeing it for what it is?
“Yeah. That’s the jackpot.”
-- That sounds so radical.
“Get serious, man. If you’re ever going to get this, you’ll have to face facts. The first one is, until you learn how to use it, mind’s like a raging storm. It disrupts and displaces the calm. Distorts our perceptions of people we love. Drives us mad with passions and prejudices. Torments with memory, tears us apart with opinions. And it can ruin your life even in the best of all possible circumstances.”
-- That’s a bad storm.
“No kidding. And a tsunami.”
-- Yeah, but how am I supposed to know what to do about it?
“Initially, just watch it. If it strikes out in vengeance, just watch it. If it shudders with shame, just watch it. If it wallows in past glory, just watch it. If it recoils in fear or grasps with greed, just watch it. Eventually, you’ll see.”
Dylan deftly lifts the slice of eel off the grill and onto a pad of rice, and hands it over the counter.
-- I’m intrigued, I’ll say that much.
“You should be. Mind is a lot like eel sauce, dark and sticky. You might not even want to know what’s in it.”
-- Maybe not, but to tell the truth, I’m curious.
“Start with this: On the down side, mind consists of barriers or interpretations that block your experience of the really real and eventually you’ll have to demolish them.”
-- But if I destroy them how will I be able to think?
“I don’t mean you have to destroy anything, but rather, make better interpretations. Accept all of your experience as a gift, for a start. Then things might change.”
-- How’s that, Dylan?
“The storm will dissipate. You’ll be out of the prison of your mind and into the natural flow of the universe. And you’ll feel better – possibly even experience genuine happiness. Other than that, things will be very much the same.”
Focused on slicing tuna for an order of sashimi, Dylan looks up, taking everything in with bemused concern.
-- That’s radical, Dylan.
Dylan laughs, “I’m glad you see the merit of this.”
-- Yeah, but it’s a stretch.
“Then don’t waste a moment. This world is like a flash of lightning, or a breaking wave. And if you haven’t already, you’ll soon become aware of the tides eroding the sandy beach you’re standing on.”

The Breaking Wave - Chapter 2 - Processed Energy

A couple of days later I’m at work and find myself distracted, which is strange because concentration’s usually no problem for me. I’ve been working as a board shaper at my uncle’s surf shop here in town since I was seventeen. He’s been doing it most of his life so I come by it naturally, love what I’m doing and am usually fully absorbed in the work. And I’m a far better shaper than I am a surfer.

After work I walk the few blocks over to the Breaking Wave. When I arrive, Dylan’s toasting a nearly black sheet of dried seaweed over the grill, calmly watching it as it turns a dark emerald green.

-- Hey, Dylan, I have a question.

Dylan’s wrapping strips of the seaweed around small mounds of rice, forming a rim that acts as a cup at the top. He fills the space with tiny brilliant orange flying fish roe, and tops that with a bright yellow quail egg yolk.

“Here – try this.”
-- No thanks.
“Yes. Just eat it. It’s even better than it looks.”
-- So you say.
“I do. And next thing you know, you’ll be eating sea urchin roe.”
-- Now I’m not even hungry.
“Oh, but you will be eventually.”
-- Hey, Dylan. Let’s just talk, okay? How can I keep the universe from kicking my ass?
“Think of it like this,” Dylan says, wiping the blade of his knife on a damp towel. “You’re the experiencer, the interpreter of vast energies. Right now, it seems like the universe is whomping on you. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You can change the experience.”
-- Great. But I don’t get it. How, Dylan?
“Slow down, my friend. The reason you don’t get it is that your mind has been the source of your entire experience, all you know of life in this world, from the time you were born.”
-- Everything? All of it? Tidal pools, skateboards, sand crabs?
“Yeah – I really mean all of it. You know nothing of reality – your mind has just sliced and diced and processed a lot of energy and served it up to you like an order of fries at a fast food place.
-- Sounds fast and convenient. So, why’s that a problem?
“Because that order of fries has been everything to you, so you’ve mistaken it for a fixed, ultimate reality. But it isn’t.”
-- So? What can I do about it?
Dylan says, “First, just realize that you’re in it.”
-- Okay. And after that?
“You’ll see. But be forewarned – if you want to get real, tune into the universe – be prepared. Your mind will try to foil you every step of the way, telling you that what you’re doing is dangerous, and foolish, and maybe even immoral.”
-- Mind sounds bad.
“Not good, not bad. But just consider this: mind isn’t just a powerful tool that created your ‘I’ – it also created dirty bombs, parking tickets, and crowded lineups.”
-- Yeah? Interesting… but what should I do?
“That’s up to you. Wake up and smell the salt air. All I can do is point.”

Dylan’s generally attentive to everyone at the counter, but tonight he’s focused mostly on a woman seated at the far end. She’s striking, with an intricate pattern of tattoos on her right arm, over her shoulder and up the right side of her neck. It’s awesome. I finish my sake, wave goodbye to Dylan, and head out into the Huntington Beach night.

The Breaking Wave - Chapter 1 - Imagining Flawed Mirrors

Two bottlenose dolphins are swimming playfully not far from where I’m perched on my board, the rhythm of small waves between sets lulling me into daydream. They’re not quite close enough to touch but the eye contact lets me know they’re aware I’m here and ignites the scent of mystery that always galvanizes my attention when they’re around.

As usual they seem happy and curious but I imagine they can be serious enough when they’re hunting for their fishy dinner or evading sharks and trawler nets. Seeking connection, I rap with my knuckles on the underside of my board and it feels like communication to me but I’m not sure how they interpret the sounds. Actually, I’m not sure about a lot of things, like why they’re hanging around me, but they don’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. Anyway, they inspire me, and I’d like to be one of them, living a life that’s as free, fluid, and mobile as theirs seems to be.
Sometimes it seems like they’re telepathic because they generally don’t stay around long when I’m worried or distracted or angry. I get the feeling that they travel a lot, to Mexico maybe, or Hawaii or maybe more exotic places looking for excitement, fun, and new flavors of squid and that motivates me to try to make some changes – like simplifying my life, cutting back as much as I can on things that tie me down - so that I can make my getaway. The website I’ve been working on for my board shaping business is coming along and once that kicks in I’ll be ready to travel.

I stay in the water until well after sunset but finally I’ve had enough and I paddle in, cold and tired and hungry. Even so, once I’m back on the beach I’m feeling invigorated, tuned in. It’s too late to go back to work, too early to sleep – so I walk around aimlessly for a while, then decide to head over to my friend Dylan’s restaurant for a bite to eat.

As I walk a low ocean fog blows across the coast highway, engulfing the scattering of people on the sidewalk outside an old tan stucco building, the small blue neon sign in the window announcing The Breaking Wave. At the entrance foggy night air collides with human sounds billowing from inside, pushes through the door and penetrates the dimly lit room, crowded on this Friday night. Caresses the regulars, immersed in their juicy enjoyment of planetary life. Dances with the minimalist guitar lines pulsing from the speakers. Rolls over the mild chaos behind the counter, nudges the bartender, tickles the waitresses. Blankets the friends, lovers, and optimistic social experiments sitting at the counter. Settles on the landscape of fish, rice, soy, miso soup bowls, beer bottles.

Dylan’s working tonight. Thrusting a serving of yellowtail sashimi over the counter, wiping his hands on a clean damp towel, he grabs a mound of rice for the soft shell crab spider roll he’s creating. The small room glows in the light of a swarm of red lanterns, and muted conversation bounces off the music. If you’re close enough you can hear the voices of the southern California coast – reminiscing about the nighttime phosphorescent glow off the waves and that red tide last summer, planning someone’s new vocal mix, predicting the next Palme d’Or winner…

Dylan asks me what’s up, and I tell him I’m thinking about getting away, maybe going to Bali. Or Mexico. Warm water, uncrowded waves, smiling happy locals.

Dylan looks up, says, “Are you nuts? You’ve got everything you need, right here, right now. Bali’s just a state of mind.”
-- Maybe so – but it’s one that I want. What’s wrong with that?
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re not happy here?”
-- Yeah, sure I am. I mean, like right now, I’m sitting here with friends, cold beer, and the freshest sushi this side of Oahu. I’m happy as a clam.
“Clams are tasty, not necessarily happy.”
-- You know what I mean, Dylan. Why can’t I feel like this more often?
“Hey. The Breaking Wave is open seven nights a week. You’re always welcome.
-- Thanks, but that could become an expensive habit.

The Breaking Wave is Dylan’s domain. Nobody orders – everyone just eats what Dylan puts in front of them. As it turns out, I usually get what I want, even if I don’t know it at the time. And Dylan keeps the quality high and the prices low and customers more often than not become addicted to the place.

“So, just come when you can, once a week or whatever. Spend the rest of your free time surfing.”

-- Good call. I like the sound of that.
“Right. Just keep life simple – everything will take care of itself.”
-- Yeah, right.
“Just remember though – all mirrors are flawed, especially imaginary ones.”

Dylan’s the most talkative sushi chef I’ve ever encountered. If he’s not spouting lessons about the art of sushi making, he’s trying to enlighten people with his wisdom. I’m pretty sure he loses a lot of business because of this, but he doesn’t bother me. Actually, my own view of things isn’t all that much different than his – it’s just that he’s light years ahead of me in his thinking, in the way he lives.

-- Back to Earth, Dylan. What are you talking about?
Dylan says, “Here, try this – it’s mackerel, lightly marinated. Now eat and listen and maybe you’ll learn something.”
-- Listening, Dylan.
“My advice is to choose your fights wisely.”
-- Which fights?
“I mean, as things stand, you’re fighting the universe, and you’re way outclassed. You can’t fight the universe and win – it’s always going to have its way with you so you might as well relax and enjoy the ride.”
-- Apparently I haven’t learned how to do that. Do you think I can?
“Probably not, but you never know. Drifting aimlessly at sea, anyone can encounter a rogue wave. The thing is, as long as you aren’t aware of what the situation is, you’re pretty much screwed.”
-- Wait, why screwed? I mean, life isn’t perfect, but it still seems alright. Weird, but okay.
“Good question….now here’s one for you: How weird do things have to get before you get serious about discovering the answer?
-- I have no idea. Guess I’ll have to think about that, Dylan.

Jack Johnson and Ben Harper - Gone

Breakdown - Jack Johnson

View from my window

Welcome