DELORIS KOAN | A day in the life in these sands of time

Today it feels like the darkness where no light gets in.

That is a line from Territory, a wonderful Australian answer to Montana’s Yellowstone — as I write this, recording a 58.5% vote for Republican tyrant Donald Trump, who is over the hump in the US presidential race against a woman I came to deeply admire, Kamala Harris.

Trump, a convicted felon, abuser of women and the environment and so much more, had support from a surprising number of my friends at the breakfast table and on my phone, which was devastating.

But let’s move on from Mordor and get back on the bike where sanity and escape are the only options available right now.

And the comfort of those who love.

I bounced into a life coach, who many will know, and we spoke about how to cope with the blows of life. 

It’s about getting closer to what’s in your heart — your true feelings — and how to try to pick them out from this maelstrom of mesh descending on us.

She said it took quietude, simply being alone with your thoughts.

And how still it was in her amazing little room, with some soft furniture, stained-glass doors, her books and computer, boards with schweet advice and a scented candle.

We were actually mourning. But also trying to find a way to the light.

I found something close to this as that cut-off low storm arrived on Tuesday.

The rain came over Gonubie Point at 6.30am, soft and soaking. Wind blew rivulets across the visor but my safety glasses held out as I made my way up a crowded, splashing, potholed Gonubie Main Road.

Long, slow lines of traffic. Now the wind was gusting.

I was going to be late for a birthday swim at Nahoon Beach, but I gave it my best, arriving as leaden skies lifted a touch to allow glass on the ocean, with marvellous-looking peaks breaking left and right.

And all my friends far, far out splashing. I had missed the swim.

And now I had a bike laden with my life so wasn’t about to leave that in the car park where, despite a permanent security guard, I just could not do it.

Atavism? Long-life experience? Two cars stolen, serious mugging, house break-ins. I just don’t have the gees.

So I stroll out on the beach in front of the EL Lifesavers’ Club shack in biker boots and rain gear, and just stood.

Was there FOMO (fear of missing out) as I tracked my friends heading towards Mermaid’s Pool? No, no guilt whatsoever. 

Was it miserable? Well for some, yeah. Rain cloud came over slowly, ruffling the ocean, wind coming down the Ihlanza tugged at my damp jacket sleeves.

But I was warm. I had a Wild Child flask filled with hot Black Gold coffee with Kola’s Honey hitting the spot.

There was simply curiosity.

Was this not where I ran out as a 12-year-old surf rat, with my Gypsy Brown red-and-glitter beach break-styled board and caught my first swell — right there, still peeling into the channel made by the Ihlanza and some Nahoon river mouth outgoing waters?

Didn’t I get onto that shiny swell and make my first moves, top and bottom, and then go completely bananas at the loose feeling of being on the plane, having the speed, and balance, and desire to go wherever I wanted, make of it what I wanted?

Those were days when this place felt wild and rough.

Getting to the backline took months of pounding, and when out there with the older boys, the terror of catching a wave back into the impact zone and having to get out again left my gut with a hole in it and chest heaving.

But I remember the quiet of being beyond the surf and the inner struggle of craving perfect surf and then getting it — in my mind at least.

And being driven body and soul just to get more, go faster, turn harder, look for bigger and rounder waves. 

Always in awe of Nahoon beach, Corner and Reef but the experience was more tactile and explosive than what I am feeling today.

There were urchins in the toe, a lurid patch of green sea grass on a flat rock right of Mermaid’s Pool which we would step on before jumping in, fin facing upwards as we scratched to get out beyond the surf breaking right on the rocks.

We were headed into deeper water, where currents swirled around pinnacle rock and swell heaved and filled the world with fear and elation.

Further and further until we were sitting in the middle of the ocean, the Reef bottom dipping and rising as the swell arrived in sweeping lines the size of buildings. 

But not today. I don’t feel that craving rush of adventure. I am looking at the headland, the dunes, coastal forest, wide sands and I am seeing and feeling something completely different.

I know more about this place now. I have written much about it, I have heard the dreams of those who have a deeper knowledge about what is going on here, about, the plants, animals, we Lilliputians vs the giants of the ecosystem.

It’s all changed. I am acutely aware of what threatens this — sewage leaks, unresponsive authorities, skollie property owners sticking their roof downpipes in the sewers, dog walkers who walk away from their pet’s doo doo, drunks who swing bottles around and break stuff, just so many issues. 

And it all feels connected. I am connected, no longer alienated by fear or violence, just happy to be on sand where it feels I have spent my entire life — my mother went into labour with me nearby when sun lovers would actually drive their Volksies and Minis onto the riverbank and park.

I am so resolved, so at peace. People come by and some say hello and chat. There’s no urgency to do anything but be here and look and smell and feel.

I look around and see so much more, signage, boat gardens, burnished dolerite boulder seats, and it’s all for the good at this moment in time. 

Hey, there is a pole piked in the sand with a pink lifebuoy attached. I feel out the band which holds it to the post.

My phone rings stridently. Ah no mehn!

“What are you doing with that buoy!

“I can see you there!”

It’s my mate Dean Knox. I look around, no Knoxie, teacher-in-the-sand extraordinaire.

He says he can see me on a surveillance camera on his phone. He has just come out from the Reef where he had a couple of good ones.

We have a good laugh and I promise my intentions are noble.

At that point, the swimmers start to emerge from the sea. They sashay in their Lycra, men and women, full of fresh energy and ready to face anything.

OK, at that point I did feel like a lazy droll but got over myself quickly.

Two women, one the birthday gal, swim teacher and social media expert Madison “Maddy” Malherbe, and clean energy consultant Katie Berlyn Holmes, strike a joyful pose.

This is from the heart.

We are reaching out one day at a time.