The Fire Island Diaries — Beached Male
Monday, July 26, 2010
I’ve become a beached male.
While out for a walk along the beach today, I had an epiphany of sorts, another form of beached mail.
The ocean, its ebb and flow, its churn and crash, swiftly reminded me that nature is alive and well.
Living in a city, I forget these basic rules of the natural world.
As I stood at its shore, the waves pushing water through my toes and then pulling it back out, it seemed as if the ocean were (nature’s way of) breathing life back into me. Then, as I meandered along the shoreline, past the beachfront properties of the Pines, their display evoked several thoughts: the first, as if they—the opulent wood structures—were preparing to do battle with the ocean. Man versus Nature.
But as I continued to walk, to relax back into my favorite beach, I began to see the humanity in each of the houses—no matter how opulent. The varied display of umbrellas, the quirky framework—little elements of homosexuality peeking up through the dune grass.And then, this: All of the houses and their variations, reminded me of a Chorus Line; a strip of assorted dancers, each prepped for a performance, awaiting instructions from Mother Nature as to how they might dance for a part in Neptune’s upcoming play: A Winter’s Ware. Gay Man versus, Mother Nature.
All at once, I felt BIG and small—a renewed appreciation for life, while acknowledging that it might be gone next year.
Man and his castle, no matter how grand, can still be swept away at any moment. Like grains of sand pulled back into the depths of the sea, only to be spit back out, some place else, onto someone else’s toes, differently.