Saturday, April 7, 2018
Friday, April 6, 2018
So much bass in here
I don't believe I'm ready to feel good again.
But the cave helped me feel more connected, and perhaps a little braver.
It was at the end of a long stretch of beach - at the very end. There weren't many people around, which helped me relax. My mind wandered among the waves and weaving dunes, draped in ice plant. What does it mean to be alone? What does it mean to connect? Community... splintered, or morphed, or at least, difficult to interpret... the world is so different now. Community isn't a block party potluck.
There was a man building a giant driftwood fort by himself. Does he sleep there I wonder? This thing was fucking huge. Shaped like a giant prawn crawling out to the sea; zillions of twiggy legs and long antennae. Maybe he's a hermit constructing his effigy to Bodega Bay's saltwater king. If he were an effigy-building hermit in the true sense though, his project yielded an ironic result; the attentions of every passerby. Subtle adulations of the magnificent prawn king in the form of short pauses and corner-of-the-mouth smiles. Perhaps hermits want to connect too, just not in the usual ways.
About an hour past the prawn, I came upon the cave. It wasn't easy to spot because it was around a rocky bend, hanging over an area of tide pools. Creepy but intriguing. It reminded me of the rocky area my brother and I explored in Jamaica, where I pretended to act like a lion with a palm frond for a tail... we've grown apart a lot. The remembrance now made me feel heavy. I approached the opening and checked the tides behind me. There were signs everywhere warning of tsunamis and advising visitors, 'NEVER TURN YOUR BACK ON THE OCEAN!' I thought that was funny as hell. The ocean appeared to be in check, so I poked my head in apprehensively. Water dripped from the roof and I saw something coiled and glittering. Oh god. Wait no... it's a rock. I stepped inside and looked back at the ocean. Was I in someone's home? Please don't let this be where I get murdered. I walked to the back wall and discovered a blue plastic pouch. Geocache? A drop? I looked around and opened it. A book and a few pens. The colorful cover had a quote from Van Gough;
I flipped through the book's entries. In need of better light, I carried it to the mouth of the cave and sat down. The first entry was from the guy who left it. I read it. Then the next. Then the one after. Prose reflecting on inter-connectedness, love, sadness... a number of them wished me well on my journey.
I sat there, alone by the cave, quietly sobbing into the dampened pages. I left my entry and re-shelved it for the next person who would need it.
But the cave helped me feel more connected, and perhaps a little braver.
It was at the end of a long stretch of beach - at the very end. There weren't many people around, which helped me relax. My mind wandered among the waves and weaving dunes, draped in ice plant. What does it mean to be alone? What does it mean to connect? Community... splintered, or morphed, or at least, difficult to interpret... the world is so different now. Community isn't a block party potluck.
There was a man building a giant driftwood fort by himself. Does he sleep there I wonder? This thing was fucking huge. Shaped like a giant prawn crawling out to the sea; zillions of twiggy legs and long antennae. Maybe he's a hermit constructing his effigy to Bodega Bay's saltwater king. If he were an effigy-building hermit in the true sense though, his project yielded an ironic result; the attentions of every passerby. Subtle adulations of the magnificent prawn king in the form of short pauses and corner-of-the-mouth smiles. Perhaps hermits want to connect too, just not in the usual ways.
About an hour past the prawn, I came upon the cave. It wasn't easy to spot because it was around a rocky bend, hanging over an area of tide pools. Creepy but intriguing. It reminded me of the rocky area my brother and I explored in Jamaica, where I pretended to act like a lion with a palm frond for a tail... we've grown apart a lot. The remembrance now made me feel heavy. I approached the opening and checked the tides behind me. There were signs everywhere warning of tsunamis and advising visitors, 'NEVER TURN YOUR BACK ON THE OCEAN!' I thought that was funny as hell. The ocean appeared to be in check, so I poked my head in apprehensively. Water dripped from the roof and I saw something coiled and glittering. Oh god. Wait no... it's a rock. I stepped inside and looked back at the ocean. Was I in someone's home? Please don't let this be where I get murdered. I walked to the back wall and discovered a blue plastic pouch. Geocache? A drop? I looked around and opened it. A book and a few pens. The colorful cover had a quote from Van Gough;
"What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?"
I flipped through the book's entries. In need of better light, I carried it to the mouth of the cave and sat down. The first entry was from the guy who left it. I read it. Then the next. Then the one after. Prose reflecting on inter-connectedness, love, sadness... a number of them wished me well on my journey.
I sat there, alone by the cave, quietly sobbing into the dampened pages. I left my entry and re-shelved it for the next person who would need it.
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