Thursday, June 09, 2005

rambling various big sur at 7 a.m.

This morning I heard (or thought I heard) the Pacific bowling in two strong surges outside the lip of my tent. The rain glued the tent fly to the tent in strange patterns, pressed drops and rivulets. My bed is soaked—somehow, somehow the rain got in, I don’t know how ---through the vents? Underground? And this has something to do with surrender, soaked foam, damp wools, and always, the fat drops rolling down nylon. What was I going to say? Oh, the crows--- over and over, my bells, calling to one another and calling me awake at 630. I wake earlier than I need to, of my own accord (or the crows’) a delicious feeling.

Big Sur jade—this is one of the few places in the world where the ocean makes new jade. This gives me the same mysterious reverberations as the idea of fresh water seals.

Two hills fold like the wings of a heart down to a view of the sea. Driving the gravel road in the dark—the road seems endless, as only small patches come into sight, and I am never sure where the next turn is, and the stars don’t give enough light in the high wooly black sky, and the smell of sycamore and eucalyptus filters sweet through the damp gravel, and the weeds.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

The tent always seems to fare ill when your boyfriend is away, which is surely a message from the universe. Listen!

...and, yeah, the embrace of earth, sky and ocean in Big Sur truly does offer a constant and ever-changing oppurtunty for absorption into the sublime. Thanks for reminding me!

~Bodhichandra

11:45 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Okay, that was written in a moment of insanity, so please disregard. It warms my heart to know that you live in such a nourishing environment, but saddens me to think that you have such fragile lodging. Take care and enjoy.

-b.c.

4:21 PM  

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