To live as the ocean means to live ferociously.

To be the ocean aggressive, playful character is a necessity

Yet at the same time grace, beauty and poise are also essential.

The trick to being the perfect ocean wave is to have enormous strength and youthful agility but at the same time maintain a physique and glamour.

Without the beauty of the ocean we’d be terrified of it;

a daunting aggressive dreary abyss; but if the ocean obtained no significant power than what would be so special about it?

A serene spot to gaze at and stumble our bewildered thoughts out upon sure, but then how much different would the ocean be from a horizon of rolling hills, a meadow, or a canyon?

To see what the ocean caresses in its depth of wonder is a mental and physical magic.

One unusually gorgeous November afternoon I hop on my ruby red bike and pant my way down Panoramic all the way to Stinsons’ shores

I stumble, sweaty out onto the warm sand facing the water

It’s diamond saran-wrap cover continues to wink and seduce me, into its blinding aura, an entrancement. No longer capable of accessing my mental state the spell begins and I start to teeter further in towards the shoreline.

Maybe my tattered yoga pants get drenched, and even start to stick to my legs and drag my thighs down like baggy weights,

But for some strange reason this seems irrelevant so I continue to rip off any exterior possessions that cling to my pores only interfering with my connection with the ocean waves.

Fixed intent, shimmering gaze, hard salty nipples, I am now becoming one with the ocean.

This is what I’d call being a state of the world’s mysterious waters.

Written by Mayana Bonapart. This poem originally appeared in the March 2011 issue.