There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in the shallows and in miseries…
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
The future has arrived, the flood is reaching its crescendo. The time to strike the iron with the hammer is about to reach its full pitch in South Norwalk, Connecticut. Grab your voices, bring your longboards and head out in to the water. Paddle out beyond the surf using the channel and meet in the lineup.
Strengthen your heart legs,
Make your core flexible and ready to take the pounding of the waves;
Push harder past the break, go forth beyond to the calm…
Awaiting the next set, position yourself
Ready with #EpicCommitment, ride it all the way in
-William Stowell (Coach Bill)
There are brothers and sisters of ours who are not given the opportunity to surf. They are not told about the liberty they have to go out and ride in the pursuit of happiness. From an early age they are brought up and made to feel lesser than and as if in the way of the inevitable ‘ modern progress’ which brings in the new and sweeps out the old. They are given a time to breathe and walk but are arenot shown the way to the beach which is where the action takes place.
There are friends of mine who amble by day in and day out with their lives as best as they can. They have different skin colors. There mouths have been filled with handkerchiefs so that their words come out muffled. Their hearts are stimmied from full-expression due to the cloth in their mouths. Men and women of low caliber and high office exert downward pressure on the shoulders of my friends and lead them out into the streets where the trucks rumble mercilessly, picking up the dust, which cakes the eyes of my brothers andsisters as they take their young to get an education.
Servants cry their hearts out and say ‘no more.’ Real justice walks the streets and raises eyes. Chains of air begin to break. Energy in motion begins to pour out. A collective dance of anger, relief and self-expression begins all at once. Caged birds sing somewhere in the background… their doors are open for them to see. The servants begin to lead with their hearts on their sleeves. The oppressors smirk from their air-conditioned offices and shuffle people and papers at an accelerating pace.
The brothers and sisters assemble with their young, each with a surfboard in hand. They face the ocean as their eyes search out the channel to paddle out into the lineup. Chains of servants lead from the front, the middle and the rearward taking care that the assembly goes forth to ride the surf. Waves are caught one after the other ad everything changes.
Somewhere a gruesome machine breaks down and the mechanic is gone out of town. He heard the surf was up, grabbed a long board given to him and joined himself to the forum. On dry land the paper and people shufflers ran out of a mandate, hanging their hats away.