Little grey car and ocean air.

Yesterday at work I was listening to this song by The Phoenix Foundation called Buffalo.   Every time I hear it I see myself in my car driving down the coast highway, next to the diamond filtering dark blue respirating sea.  Big rocks, knee-high grasses and the cliff side.  Sharp colors, green, yellow, blue, brown. Sonoma County where the Russian River pours out.

When I flew back to California in September, after my brother's baby was born and when I still had my Versa to live in, I took an exit off the 101 one day that on my map led to the coast.  I discovered Sebastopol that way, ate carnitas for $2.00 from a parking lot taco stand, found a deal on Red Bulls and iced espresso drinks in the same place and then landed at a bright farmers market in the center of downtown.  I love the flowers in California. The happy space on the sidewalks.  All the magic in the stores. I love the hippies in Mendicino, too.  After that was all done I took the Russian River Highway all jagged and twisted to the coast.  That's when I found the sea again, me and the sea, always us together, always the rolling crawls then crashes that lead me on.  It was the perfect, perfect spontaneous road trip kind of day.

I keep seeing myself in that bliss.  Window down, sunglasses, little grey car and ocean air, rocks big as castles, water and yellowed grass. It's so real.  I dont know what's coming next.  I just hang on to this, this sense, this vision, because of the way it's so clear in my heart .  Me heading south again, maybe camping, near the coast where I belong.  I hang on because of how happy and natural it feels.

That's me, laughing at you

It's late to be blogging.  I know.  Especially because of the hard time I've had waking up to start work by nine the past several days.  I haven't.  Started by 9 that is.  I like my mornings, it's the only time I get quiet time, and peace.

Beth told me:  I was in the hot tub with Benj three or four nights ago listening to the wind blow.  I asked him do you hear how deep it sounds?  He didn't get it...

I smile when she tells me this, admiring of her wild wisdom.  The trees moved in constant rustle here for two days. Spoke tree-speak but the air didn't move at all close down to the grass on the land. I get it, I know what it means, know what Beth means.  I recognize when my soul, my "other 92%" (that awareness my brain chooses not to make me conscious of) beckons my attention for example by drawing me, reasonless, to the breeze.  I relish these bits of times.  I bless it as sacred for the tiny moment that it is.

And the changes, they are coming.  But first much will be moved gently away.  I talked about it all with Beth.  In preparation for what will change--what will come, what will end, what will begin again--I am up late, researching cars.  My rental is due back Saturday.  I've been on the internet every night now for three days, edmunds and autotrader and I can tell you all about V6's and 4 cylinders and why CVT's aren't good for the engine if you're looking at an SUV.  Also, side and curtain airbags.  They saved my life and are a necessity if the car is going to get anything more than a POOR rating for safety.  I try to walk the even line between being prepared but knowing I can't be in control.

Life!  You're funny.  That's me, laughing at you giggling at me.

I am looking forward to Thanksgiving, and seeing my family in Oregon.  I am also looking forward to getting paid.  And, I like the idea of seeing the path ahead unfold in a way that was first whispered to me from a steady California wind, high in the Humboldt trees.