White Noise Jungle

The Ocean embraces me warmly just after the chill of it’s violent caressing of the shoreline. It is deep and alien and we may never know her truth, but I can feel it. When I find myself at her mercy I can feel it all in an instant. The depth, the history, the gentle rolling, the violent destruction, the crippling silence of the void below, the life teeming within her. I feel her heartbeat and change mine to match. I shift my breathing to come and go with the waves. I become as much a part of her as I can without falling off the edge.

And in that moment all is quiet. Calm. Peace. Fullness.

-excerpt from my diary entry, 06/01/2024

Something about seeing cowboy hats on the beach bothers me, but not enough to do anything about it or let it ruin my day. People are people, they do what they do. Besides the fact that this weekend is a bull riding event at the end of the boardwalk where the Ferris wheels are, so there was bound to be a downward trend in terms of fashion.

Not that I come here for that though, in fact I don’t come here for much in general. The three and a half hour drive is a meditation driven by the music selections of the day based on the vibe, the processing of the current state of my mental health, and high doses of caffeine in various forms to really boost the existential warping of my mind as I become an emotional terror to whoever else is on the road with me.

I’m not driving like a madman, just thinking like one.

When I reach my destination, it’s the same as always, and there is comfort in the consistency.

Cross the bridge into Ocean City, turn left, park a block down from the hotel my ex wife and I spent a week at years ago, and pay via app. At this point it’s 8:30/9:00AM and I’ve been awake since 3:30/4:-00AM, so first thing is first: pick a spot for the pup tent on the beach, and take a nap.

Around 10 I wake up (though sometimes I don’t even sleep, I just end up in a halfway-conscious state) and walk back to the boardwalk entry near where I parked, where the diner is. A breakfast burrito, coffee, and cleansing smoothie go down without a hitch while I observe everyone around me and wonder what their lives are like. I embrace the stickiness of the table, the bohemian swagger of the staff, and the gliding of my pen across my diary pages.

Back out to the beach, it’s quiet. Well, it’s not “quiet”, but it’s the right kind of noise.

The in and out of the waves, the miscellaneous chatter of people, the laughing (and sometimes screaming) of children, and the breeze making the flaps of the tent do their best impression of kites.

Out in the water I spend most of my time facing away from shore, or floating on my back far enough out that the waves come but don’t break. Facing back towards shore occasionally, the white noise persists. Some shirtless bro’s disappointed conversation with the closest lifeguard because they can’t throw a football around in the water. A two year old playing in the sand hollers in disapproval that both her parents decided to go down into the waves, trying to draw her closer. An older couple stays rooted in their chairs under their umbrella, feet in the sand, gossiping about everyone around them.

Some time later back on the boardwalk, I have one of the strongest margarita’s I’ve ever encountered in the wild. It tastes as if someone just spoke the word “lime” very near to a bottle of tequila. I pair it with chips and salsa and a Sprite, and sit their enveloped in the mixtape of a busy beach bar on a Saturday.

Life is noise, the balance of silence and intensity. It drives us, influences us, annoys us, caresses us, makes us argue, makes us fall in love. The sounds of the world around us are the vibrations of life itself.

“Wow, that’s deep” you are probably saying to yourself. Maybe it is, maybe I’m just pretentious. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s everything, and who’s to say what that is?

The truth is, for as much noise as there always is in a popular beach town, this place has always provided a silent comfort. Perhaps it’s the vicinity to the ocean, my endless and greatest source of healing. Maybe it’s being so far removed from home, a familiar place that isn’t my “everyday”. All I know is that when I’m weak in my soul I can come here and be made whole again.

I can truly rest.

-Bones