Be battered. Willingly. Step into the inferno with a smirk.
Feel the trembling of your bones and your heart in ways that make you feel alive beyond compare. Doubt the very strength of your character to the point you accept your frailty. Accept you can break like a twig. Smashed on the rocks. Bruised, broken and in despair. Obliterated in a fraction of a second. And still, you charge ahead. Still, you go on. It is necessary. Will it break you? Maybe. It is necessary. Will it change you? Undoubtedly. It is necessary. Will you become a force to be reckoned with? You decide if it is necessary.
Misogi
A Japanese purification ritual. The idea of standing under an icy cold waterfall and cleansing yourself of all the destructive thoughts and ways you’ve lived. Until you emerge anew. And the waterfall forever serves as the symbol of what you needed to endure to leave it all behind.
The Western adaptation of Misogi is that you willingly choose to endure 1 thing that is so fear-grippingly hard, so far beyond your comfort zone, that it profoundly affects everything else you do during the year. Just 1 day to change all other 364.
My Misogi happened last Friday.
As an intermediate surfer, I don’t f*ck with waves of 7-8 feet. But I convinced myself to go, much to the joy of my partner Eva and my surf teacher Chok.
I will not hide it. The waves were brutal. Got smashed on the beach twice because I couldn’t make it through the shore break. I ate sand. Ready to give up, throw in the towel, f*ck this sh*t. Back to the comfort of my home.
And Chok said “No”.
Breathe. Let’s go.
We pushed ahead.
No one out in the waters. Except for the 6 of us. Enduring set after set.
The sky turned black. And if we weren’t already washed by the crashing waves, then the heavens made sure we were. A torrential rain passed through. Like rifles firing on the surface of the ocean. A battering from both sides.
Breathe. Just. Breathe.
Whfffff.
The ocean was as mysterious as I’d ever seen it.
Our vision blurred. And what we could make out was something resembling a silver desert. A moving mirage.
Curved lines running criss-cross with white caps. But white caps mercurial in appearance. And the curves came with a deep dark belly that rose up as it approached us. Ready to swallow all who couldn’t dive under. Some lost leashes. Others had their inner compass tumbled.
Carefully, I timed my moment. Deciding which waves were going to be too much and which ones I could dare ride. A few half-attempts. Mostly because I backed out sooner rather than later.
Then there it was: my Misogi-wave. Not a beast. But big enough to meet my match.
The roaring black belly rose in the distance. The rain deafened the senses. Trust. Breathe. Paddle. Deep. Push the board. Up. Up. Steer in. Ride.
And the wave took me.
And I took the wave.
Euphoria.
…
Post-Misogi
Not long after, the heavens ceased fire. For anyone that knows the ocean, when a rainshower passes, the surface settles.
They call it Nirvana, the calm after the storm.
Waves still kept coming. But with much less drama.
Much like my inner world at that point.
Still drenched in the presence of nature, I took the scenery in.
Right at that moment a sea turtle, just 2 meters away, bopped its head above the surface.
All was well.
All was new.
Commentary:
I have to deeply thank Chok. For all the surf and mindset lessons over the past 5 months. And his encouragement and safety. If you’re ever in Bali, dear reader, and need one hell of a surf teacher, send Chok a message at GoShred.
Have I been magically cured of the fear of huge waves? No. Have I reached a tipping point to trust myself more? Absolutely. Not just in surfing.
And finally, I wish you a profound Misogi moment for yourself. Seek it out and embrace it, you will shift in ways words won’t do justice.
Misogi - Do 1 thing that profoundly affects all your other 364 days