These past couple of weeks, I’ve been surfing at a spot where the beach is lined with professional photographers. The first time I realized that they were taking pictures of me and that they would send me the images for relatively cheap, I was stoked. And as I posted the images on social media, the compliments and applause from you, the audience, certainly satiated the hunger of the demon that continually attempts to hi-jack my mind with its haunting proclamations that I will never be enough. Before I knew it, I began fixating on getting more photos. Soon, I was surfing as a fractured self - a physical eye looking for waves and a mental eye seeking validation from Never Never Land. The beauty of surfing is in the performance of an art for the sole purpose of riding the wave…the tracks disappear moments after they are laid. As soon as it becomes an activity for the sake of others, the soul of surfing dies. As above, so below. Luckily I awoke before it went too far…haha. I surfed the rest of the week at epic breaks, paying no mind to whether or not there were photographers…and it was GOOD! What I learn in surfing applies to every aspect of my life. Needy bitches are gross. Beauty emanates from Source. 

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