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legends * andalu, surfrider, beach goddess, endless summer

andalu * legend of winds

Hinkle Bowl by Zen Del Rio

Surfing fables share of a surf fantasy Shangri-La that is “emblematic of perfection” to us as surfers. The “surfer of fortune” soon comes, drawn by his lust, with the cosmic surfer more a seeker of what may be called a “monastic surf paradise.” More recently, surf discovery has turned into surf camps, which wherever the case, “all your crap just blows out over your back…. the screaming parents, the teachers, the police, the priests, the politicians, and especially the kneeboarders, windsurfers, and kayakers.”

illustration Patrick Parker

Away from our stress and confusion, our clouds drift off and our vision clears, and we come upon our Forgotten Island within. “Reunion with self” is intrinsic to these Fortunate Isles. Time alone is well spent along the enchanted shores of our magic island. Surrounded by pods of dolphins, with a “quiet and properly paced passage of time,” our solitary wanderer welcomes the mystical and cultivates her aesthetic within. The silence lends itself to an expanded awareness and deeper connection with our “green goddess” as hostess, who begins to “grow” us anew towards a greater “univisceral consciousness.” As sanctuary, our verdant dreamland is a healing place of purity. There is chance of metamorphosis here by way of softening, and an “oxygenating.” In our quest for a “near nirvana” experience we enlist an emotional fortitude, in that “the most remote experience brings forth the deepest intimacy with life,” and knowing that “the most out of touch destination brings us the closest, and most in touch,” with the “darkness like chocolate,” of our soul. We are left with the question, “to be real, or not to be real?”

Clear Waters by Zen Del Rio

Andalu is “symbolic signpost unto the Unknown.” Like the ethereal island of Avalon, we’re not sure if it’s “make believe or not.” At rest in the garden of Eden, we know the “island is naturally healing,” and imagine a “New Polynesia,” where we get a “taste of what was.” It’s “so removed, it’s not real.” But it is. With no hurries, and no worries, our luscious wonderland is a beachcomber’s haven, with real grass shacks and palm frond tiki huts to call home, for the duration of our hiatus. Our halcyon days are a timely reprieve and filled with sea dreams and flower power, as we grow a “papaya consciousness.” Not hunkered down, there is a wild freedom to our “dreamtime” and life at large within our ideal idyll, an archipelago replete with magic afoot in all four directions. To the makai side there are undines and sirens for water spirits, with mauka side hiding air spirit sylphs and fairies. Leeward side we know of earth spirit elves and gnomes, with windward side home to the symbolic tiger about, our trusted animal totem alongside us as shamanic “defender from chaos within,” and on our sacred journey of “soul retrieval.”

Moulnar tile by Zen Del Rio

We see the bigger picture as we step into the Unknown, and soon ask, “paradise or paradox?” Easter Island is austere and formidable, and we seem to be coming down with “rock fever,” with gale more storm than refreshing or invigorating. We can’t handle detachment nor deportment, as our exile mutates into a surf asylum. We again ask, “what are we running or hiding from?” Overthinking muddles our plans for the future, as the ephemeral dream leaves us, and the island, vulnerable to mass “surferism.” Discovery invites ruin, as exploitation and an international imperialism is answer to our inconvenience. Technology soon enslaves, as the subsequent economic inflation runs the original locals into slave labor.

deep jungle by Remi Bertoche

Be farsighted. Get away from it all. Retreat. The location may serve you well. Regain your perspective from afar. Put an end to separation and fear. Forge bonds of intimacy with our ocean and earth, with others, and with yourself. Fall into a rhythm. Reunite with All of Life, and yourself. You can always refer back to your life experience. Author your own story about the “unbearable lightness of being.” The experiences you need will come to you. Go native. Surprise yourself. Build a treehouse. See unencumbered. Erect your own tiki hut and bamboo temples. Live in harmony with other creatures. As truth is reflective of nature, plant life within, and without, and know her as the keystone for regeneration. Let your emotions and feelings ooze out. Let things swirl about. Gain inspiration and new reference points. Relate anew upon return. Eliminate excesses and anything superfluous. See with a “wide angle lens.” Be omnipresent. A fairytale ending is possible. Watch out for Lady Luck, because “home is where the heart is,” and chances are that she’ll be waiting for you there. If you are strong, and have courage enough to let go, the “message in a bottle” will come to you, and “we will all be together again.”

surfrider * legend of waves

Our legends of surf lore all spawn from their time upon the Pacific Ocean shores of the Hawaiian Islands. Whether it was seminal big wave surfers such as Eddie Aikau and Greg Noll, or virtual surf apostles like Gerry Lopez and Wayne Lynch, the surfrider helps define what it is to be a surfer. Our longstanding love for the ocean carries over into life. Brian “Buffalo” Keaulana and Rell Sunn, the Queen of Makaha, were surfers first as ambassadors and sharegivers. Together, with Duke Kahanamoku and other early Hawaiian surfriders, who share a lineage with origins in Oceania, they began to perpetuate the myth that surfing is the “sport of kings,” for “those who can virtually walk on water.” The purist surfs, or even just swims naked. Tom Blake was such a surfrider who was happy to just ride. The surfrider responds to our Mother Ocean’s wave cadence. Vintage surfers such as Tom and Pat Curren are father and son, and seem to be emotionally connected to the waves, as “high surf brings a zestfulness that is peculiarly somatic.” And as “great waves and great spirits come together in majestic ride,” the surfrider “pantheon” of waves gone by, is our ode to “yestermorrow,” and the surf museum of today.

Enshrined in our hearts, the surfrider has “lived life like a movie.” It’s a true story and we “couldn’t have scripted it any better.” As proverbial legend, her life has taken on mythical proportions. Her Pacific Islander heritage unfolds like sacred sea scroll. Yet despite her mystical aura, she “acts like it’s no big thing” and is eternally stoked. She is muse among men and lover of life. As trusted counsel she offers a calming presence, as she is sensible and stouthearted, and of substance. Her quiet is instructive as she knows humility. Gracious and elegant she is heartfelt and nonchalant. Her “paragon of character” lends her a certain standing, as her “stature and presence inoculates against the vagaries of whim and fashion.” Her tolerance facilitates the restoration of our heart connection. She is fulfilled and nourished as she cherishes reunion and lasting relationship. Her physical attraction is one of a benevolent soul, and yet she is of supple body, dexterous, adroit and lithe. She is the supreme pleasure principle, enthused and with courage enough to share of her concupiscent nature without shame.

Still, the surfrider is not without his disappointments. Resigned to living later in life as outmoded ode and relic, we are withdrawn and stoic. Our controlled emotions give way to a broken heart, as we long to again “taste the salt of experience.” The lyrical is left unsung, as we are without rhyme nor reason.

Defy reason. Help heal our broken hearts. “Surfing is a feeling that never leaves you.” Don’t hold yourself up to an unreasonable standard. Be amoral. You can’t compare or measure up. Whether athlete or artist, “the authority of individual experience is in the heartfelt.” Be a surfrider. Be in the flow. Surfing is “at-one-ment.” Be soulful. Sitting on the seat of the soul, upon the ocean’s surface, we are at emotional equilibrium, and at “mind’s eye.” Water soothes the soul. Be with it. Paddle outside. Position yourself. Be selective. Recognize conditions. Sense what’s coming. Are you prepared? Balance is in your body. Do yoga. Use it in everyday life. Come clean and stay on board. Be real. Dreams do come true. Just let the spinning wave peel. Negative ions calm the nerves. Get in the “Zen zone.” Retain control while in the flow. Dig your rail, throw some spray, and slide your tail. Return to balance. Know the opportunities and risks, then let it loose and fly high. Surf different waves. Get your groove on. Your epitaph will read, “ripped in peace.” Leave a legacy. “The goodness we were born with is what we have to leave behind,” and as “the true king wears no crown.” Make the surfing world a better place. Give back to the ocean and enjoy peace of mind. Be a “liferider.”

beach goddess * legend of rocks

The surfer, beach goddess and our Mother Ocean Divine is surfing’s holy trinity. We are all attracted to the natural harmony of beach and surf, and the coming together of all of nature’s elements. Wind, waves, rocks and rays come together in creative convergence and leave the beach goddess feeling attuned, which is different than the tuned in feeling of the surfer. Her face glows like sunrise or sunset, and goes well with “salt water wine.” She is our seahoney and full on sister to the surf gods. She swims naked in the seaside Blue Pool and is at home in the ocean’s emotional waters. That is why we as surfers seek her out. She is “Gidget, Marianne and Ginger,” and plays big with the “surfiati tremolos.” She is our mythical bikini figure holding us sway in graceful grass skirt, under hula dance “hypnoexotica.”

Her bikini befits her as she is beauty to behold. Adherent to a “biotic diet,” she is a natural woman and aspires to an “amazing grace.” She uses her beauty to help and most serve others in finding their own. With loving touch and radiant health, she is “the sweetness” and communes in song as ode to sun, sand and sea. She is devoted to her cause and thinks of herself as dutiful. As den mother she is mannered and discerning by necessity. Honest and forthright, she is our local beach patroness. As wife and girlfriend she is faithful companion and lover. She luxuriates in love as we wax in poetic exaltation over her. She is lavished upon and sought after as sensual temptress and “glittering oceanic sea nymph.” As mermaid she is “symbolic of the seductive sea goddess,” and mythical siren to the surfer as “son of goddess.” As wicca she uses shell necklace as pendulum and instructs in “ancient goddess worship” via cowry shell divination. Adorned with creative accoutrements, she is without perfumes or cosmetics and seems “almost unreal” at times, living out a glamourous fairytale life upon the wheel of fortune. “Secure in knowing that wealth and comfort will flower from her powers of attraction,” her presence demands attention. She is queen of our nightlife scene, role playing as undine diva and spoken word muse. Her tender look is a philanthropy of nature, exotic beauty guesting within our fantasy escapade.

Roxy Wahine Classic by Ron Croci

The beach goddess is “not the dumb blonde that people make her for,” and yet she is routinely challenged to not be stereotyped by her bikini. She is also susceptible to the “California girls” myth, and can be “blindly worshipped for her beauty.” As “beach mannequin” she cannot evade the pedestal, and is her own worst enemy as she “feigns reciprocation to vassal admirers,” while secretly fawning over our “beach board lords,” wishing she could “shed her cloak for some action.” She doesn’t get in the water much. Separated by whitewater and breaking waves, she is left “on the rocks,” and “waiting for her surfer to come in.” As “mermaid beach Lorelei,” she is “psychopomp” in waiting, and but far cry from an “Elektra complex.” She can be catty and “witchy,” and her selfishness chases friends away. She rarely takes others feelings into account, and as “uncaring ice queen” finds few suitors willing to take her on. Of possessive and “tainted love,” her relationships are short and ill fated, while others keep their distance for fear of censure. It is hard to escape her sway, as her hissing and darting tongue well befits a snapping turtle, as she is “really a princess and acts like a queen bee.” When with “jaded sea cows” she overeats of “unshared resources.” We then ask, “beach matriarch or wretched soul?” as she is most after material exchange rather than in relationship with ocean and earth as spiritual sharegiver. She takes the beach and her beauty for granted, and can come down with “Mona Lisa-itis.” Like a tube ride, her image is fleeting. Her beauty within is unbeknownst to her, as she is actually “afraid she is not beach bikini beautiful enough.” She is wrapped up in the material and physical, and her appearance, but “will weather eventually.” Betrayed by her fading beauty, she is sad and sorrowful regarding the resignation of her beauty queen, pinup model past. Meanwhile the surfer is disgusted by the unnatural, as in truth, our beached peacock is closer to idle harlot in a suspect beach burlesque. Ballyhooed and beseeched by her fellow aesthetes, she invites contempt and jealousy. In turn, our kowtowing leaves us obsessed and infatuated, and makes her the evermore make believe and ephemeral. Like a beautiful flower, cut her off and put her in a vase, or on our pedestal, and she’ll wilt and die. She’s no longer real.

illustration Remi Bertoche

The true surfer will not be deceived. A surfer knows his first love is with the ocean. A true surfer is incorruptible, and not vulnerable to seduction. Allow space. Let him go. You cannot live vicariously through the surfer as spectator. Embrace life. Reciprocation with our Ocean Divine and the eventual extirpation of the pampered princess and queen bee complex is essential. Fall from grace into a natural way of life. Move from silver spoon to silver surfer. Your fellow waterwomen are waiting for you. Be a surf cat. Paddle out. Unlike the wicked witch, water transforms you. Retire your sex symbol. Get wet! Receive our Mother Ocean’s love. Drink in her beauty. Enjoy what you have. Be in alignment with nature. “Love cannot be held in your hands.” It is felt from your heart. Get closer and more down to earth. Cultivate your garden. Come into full blossom. Beseech the divine. Wave your wand mercifully. Wear your tiara as homage to Gaia, our Mother Ocean and Earth. Enjoy her. Transcend your beauty. Take off your shoes and come down off your pedestal. Are you more beautifully dressed on the inside or outside of yourself? Move from the material to the spiritual. See great beauty in yourself and others. Exude joy. “Use your beauty within to help others see theirs without.” Lift spirits. Join hands within a circle of women. Dance. Sing, speak and hold sway. Trust in your talents. Do hands on healing and bodywork. There is an opportunity for learning here. Think of yourself and others. You are on the doorstep to becoming a real goddess. Reflect the true you. Sparkle. Come into your “state of grace.

endless summer * legend of rays

The essence of surfing is simply just to go out and have some good ol’ clean fun. Just as the classic, quintessential surf scene has us wearing our big ol’ baggies at the surf stomp “surforama,” with woodies, beach palapas, and the “little grass shack” as backdrop, our rockabilly and rhythm and blues roots to our surf music well express the feeling of what it is to go surfing. We’re stoked! The “endless luau” or “hippie surfer, surf carnival,” is our creative antidote for “unsurfable” days. Tiki surf huts are our temples dedicated to our love of surfing. We’re “crazed.” Surfing families and whole villages use to drop everything to go surfing. Our “wave ridden surf culture” pays tribute to the “endless entity”, and our saviors, better known as “our breaking waves.” We make surf trips, have handmade surf totems, and are tiki collectors after any and all “surfiana.” It’s “surf city here I come!” Our life of leisure is nothing but “beach blanket bingo.” We are living life as a luau, and as just another day at the beach.

Our beachside “magic kingdom” is never caught resting on its laurels. Our “summer of love” is full of sunshine, “good vibrations,” and summer romance. The “boys of summer” are a “legion of lovers” who fancy “hedonistic pursuit and distraction." As “merrymakers” they know how to have fun and are full of life and sexual vitality. They follow the “bohemian horde” from “hootenanny” to “corroboree,” and back home again to the “longhouse.” We are “romancing the sun” from sunrise to sunset with an “endless summer” of stories to tell. Under full sun we are energized and have an “endless zest and passion for life.” We are zany and lit up, and guaranteed our “place in the sun.” As free spirits we are alive and untamed, “exulting in tribal celebration,” with carefree abandon and an unharnessed joy. Shirts and shoes are not required, and you can really “let down your hair.” Our ocean children are toasty warm from the sun, refreshed by the sea, and cushioned by the sands of time. Caressed by oceanic breeze, we share a healthy camaraderie and are glad for our “sense of solidarity.” We have friends to fall back on and share our ocean dreams by way of our “daily diorama.” We are passionate about “stayin’ with the in crowd,” and make pilgrimage to the various communal shrines of our beach culture hamlets. There are beach bonfires and parties to be had, rife with the dark skin and rich complexion of summer love. It’s a regular, beach ballyhoo mardi gras, playing along to the soundtrack of our longshoremen lives.

Our fanatic appears content, but he’s a “counter dependent,” the usually male version of the better known “co-dependent.” He’s contracted “brodaditis.” He’s trying to be cool, but he’s really fried and on an “endless bummer.” He’s “Carless” Santana, without a car or much else in the way of work, and living with his mom, or he lives off his chick and friends. His deception leaves him on the outs, paying off the debt on his “misspent youth.” Misdirected, he makes no connection or peace with our “dearly beloved” ocean and earth. He’s a lost soul within an “aloof cult,” lost in our world of “disreputable indulgence.” His covetous ways and hoarding, miserly behavior lead to his loneliness. He’s a visionary, but mostly misunderstood. He’s out of season, out of sync, and out of style. Burnt out, he can’t accept the inevitable darkness of being. Left high and “dryfuss,” he suffices on junk food, junk sex, and worse yet, junk surf.

Stay connected. Spend a day in the water with your friends. Come into community. Good group juju builds charisma. Glow. Be the moon shepherd and light the way. Love and happiness is meant to be shared. It’s “not a thing to be owned or a goal to be attained, but rather a fleeting state to inhabit.” The essence of “ephemerality” is rooted in the pleasure principle. Feel your bliss. Make a wish for a “bloom to remain in blossom.” Be a friend to the end. Let people know they have a place in yours and our surfing world. Be accepting of all, including yourself. Knowing you belong makes you feel like you’re part of something. Host a potlatch luau. Give to others. Sharing flourishes in reciprocal social circles. Make give aways. Life is too short not to celebrate. Cut loose. Beat your drum to the driving surf beat. Music aids in your receptivity to your intuition. Sing healing songs. Share good times and good vibes. Pow wow. Cooperate. Choose life everyday. Live your life as an endless summer. “The underpinning of truth and soul is that feeling of a full day at the beach.” And make sure you take it with you, because it’s “always summer on the inside.” Awaken. “Unclothe your soul.” Frolic. Is your life going anywhere, or is it always just “fun in the sun?” Heat transforms and heals. Sundance. If you’re not barefoot and without a shirt, you’re overdressed. Explore your cultural heritage. Does your luau shirt or sundress brighten someone’s day? Feel good all over. Tikis represent ancient gods and magic. Travel and expand your horizons. Lead and follow. Contribute. Habitat restoration leaves you feeling fulfilled, and reminds us that, “the grass is not greener on the other side, the grass is greener where you water it.”

illustration Roy Gonzalez

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