The hobbit house is built in to the side of Laguna Canyon and for that reason at night with no heat it feels cozy and held by the earth herself. I have a space heater Annie and Tony gave me when I first moved in and that's all it takes to stay warm. With lots of soaking rain the soil is green and smells like life. Even the morning mist-gray feels right in an atmosphere like this, one that sings Allliiiiive!
Damnit even if the Gods themselves gave me a paintbrush I couldn't of hand-created a life more exactly specific to what I love. This I tell Serena to ensure her, this, this our hard fought independence, our always-there choice, to live. What Laguna Beach for us actually means. She has done it every step of the way as I have and I admire her fiercely and devotedly for this. We will always have this. I laugh then and say because they did! I took my brush right from the God's hands! Said gimme that I will choose the life I live! Serena laughs too, this our secret, what we treasure and hold dear in the other.
It has been a long road since she left the treehouse upstairs. Life, which in living gives us what we need. We are so blessed I also tell her, and yes, yes we are I know, she says back to me. I feel a gulp in my heart and for us both feel-say the silent prayer.
I am always so wrought through with home and the ties that bind. Spent two years studying the psyche of this, of these things, and am convinced more than ever of the continuum of earth, of how she uses her people to soul-speak for a place, and in this way keeps sacred the tides of the land. There is so much life outside any door. When I first got to California the best part was how new it was. I vowed never ever to take you for granted Holy California and even though sometimes I start to, in the end I never do. Or still haven't. And that's what life is. To keep waking up. Again.
I consider family, too. Back east, here. Derynne and Cam, the kids. We buried her brother in what for her I know was a long whir of endless sad. Pacifica family and blessing the sacred space for Eve and Kalen to wed. Visiting with Atticus, seeing clients again, waiting on Jasmine to get back for school. Through it all there are tacos at Feast, the hot counter in San Juan with the pounds of chilaquiles, the clerks at the market downtown who tell you they missed seeing you, there is mermaid beach and the other secret spots and burrito joints with surf boys covered in tattoos. It is amazing how our tiny rounds from day to day connect us in, make life, see us through the daily passings of grocery trips and recycling and take-out Chinese food. See us to the big ones. Death, marriage, birth, tears and laughter. The sighs in between where words can not fit.
So it life again. I come back to you. I let you in.
Showing posts with label all good things are wild and free. Show all posts
Showing posts with label all good things are wild and free. Show all posts
January 12, 2015
November 26, 2014
Translating to words the sea and tall-tree talk
In Rincon I thought for a sec about going to the beach. I had a conversation with Konan the night before about surf breaks and it only seemed right. Everything in me wanted tires on road though and already the 101 was making that certain kind of only-on-101-noise.
The gas station on the right was cheaper by a cent but the cashier in the other one had the night before won me over. An ESL student with a middle eastern way of averting his eyes which I knew was meant as a form of respect. The night before I'd asked do you carry tasty cakes and he said, "Excuse me, ma'am, I am only learning english, please repeat the question." We talked about his commitment to learning english and I authentically tried to assure him how successful he already was. His humility I could actually feel in my heart. Even though he worked, as he told me, graveyard shift, I still went back to his store in the morning for gas.
I knew there'd be grace then: walking out to my car, in my hand a jug of water and some rugged gloves that were only 2 bucks for later when I camped. Next to my car a van, the old hippy kind, with a Dead sticker on it. A guy my age-ish or a little younger came towards me then. He had the sparkle in his eye and was inside his heart. I relaxed and smiled big and warm, already had my wallet out…Think you could spare a few bucks he said and then, we're trying to get to San Diego by the night. I nodded and said a prayer and gave thanks for beneficent road blessings for us both and handed him some cash.
I took the 101north until I saw a sign for Morrow Bay then took that west. In Morrow Bay it led me down a little access road, it being the magic which by now was back and I had to let it ease through my body in a mild, sweet way a little at a time. But for sure it led me down this little road with beachfront motels and so I made note, Morrow Bay I will be back.
At the south end of Big Sur I found Sebastian's General Store just past the Piedras Blancas and the Lighthouse of the same name. Originally my plan had been to get warm lunch there then get north to Kirk Creek. But in the parking lot it was the feeling of noooo not yet in a soft movement that felt like gentle wind. So on I went.
I am glad I did that big stretch of the 1. Big Sur is the only stretch of California coastline on which I'd never travelled. But then as I got more north I realized wow that isn't true. In the 90's when my dad lived in San Jose he brought us down that route--me and Sean my brother. This was probably 1992.
I was saddened by Big Sur because of the invasive fragmite all over the sides of the hill. As an indicator of the ecosystem a parasite like that, among so much splotches of otherwise bald land, well it told me her health is not well. I was expecting so much more…green. Only in the center is there deep green quiet and that stretch lasts only a few miles or so. I thought more than once, well Kel you're spoiled because you lived on the Oregon coast. Then realized it's why people keep the magic up there such a secret, it's own private host. Kirk was all reserved and the other campsites too. I was deeply content already just with my drive and really wanted, needed big trees so anyhow so I turned right in Carmel--which means towards inland--and got a room for $50 when I got to Salinas.
Salinas is mostly Mexican which anyway next to the wealth of Carmel made me feel more at home. I got tacos and watched the Ravens win on cable. From there, next morning I got on 1 again and took it towards Santa Cruz. I got to Big Basin and lost my cell again, which made me happy because it was the final piece of grace towards the silence that I need.
This morning all I could see was no shower with the crisp yum of redwoods still in my hair and curled up some place with poetry and coffee. So I set out knowing that was it, magic vision flowing like it oughta or useta or is anyway again, and now on the other side of those coastal ranges I landed in the town of Saratoga in a wood floored cafe that roasts their own beans. I had the most blazin burrito for breakfast even though it was already close to noon. In this valley where around me the redwoods sing the sound you need absolute quiet to hear--well, yes. Cozy is the word.
Writing now and will scootch to the corner in a second for a over-stuffed couch and poems and the real work, which is translating to words the sea and tall-tree talk.
Humboldt in the morning, with soul-fam.
As it should be, for Giving Thanks.
The gas station on the right was cheaper by a cent but the cashier in the other one had the night before won me over. An ESL student with a middle eastern way of averting his eyes which I knew was meant as a form of respect. The night before I'd asked do you carry tasty cakes and he said, "Excuse me, ma'am, I am only learning english, please repeat the question." We talked about his commitment to learning english and I authentically tried to assure him how successful he already was. His humility I could actually feel in my heart. Even though he worked, as he told me, graveyard shift, I still went back to his store in the morning for gas.
I knew there'd be grace then: walking out to my car, in my hand a jug of water and some rugged gloves that were only 2 bucks for later when I camped. Next to my car a van, the old hippy kind, with a Dead sticker on it. A guy my age-ish or a little younger came towards me then. He had the sparkle in his eye and was inside his heart. I relaxed and smiled big and warm, already had my wallet out…Think you could spare a few bucks he said and then, we're trying to get to San Diego by the night. I nodded and said a prayer and gave thanks for beneficent road blessings for us both and handed him some cash.
I took the 101north until I saw a sign for Morrow Bay then took that west. In Morrow Bay it led me down a little access road, it being the magic which by now was back and I had to let it ease through my body in a mild, sweet way a little at a time. But for sure it led me down this little road with beachfront motels and so I made note, Morrow Bay I will be back.
At the south end of Big Sur I found Sebastian's General Store just past the Piedras Blancas and the Lighthouse of the same name. Originally my plan had been to get warm lunch there then get north to Kirk Creek. But in the parking lot it was the feeling of noooo not yet in a soft movement that felt like gentle wind. So on I went.
I am glad I did that big stretch of the 1. Big Sur is the only stretch of California coastline on which I'd never travelled. But then as I got more north I realized wow that isn't true. In the 90's when my dad lived in San Jose he brought us down that route--me and Sean my brother. This was probably 1992.
I was saddened by Big Sur because of the invasive fragmite all over the sides of the hill. As an indicator of the ecosystem a parasite like that, among so much splotches of otherwise bald land, well it told me her health is not well. I was expecting so much more…green. Only in the center is there deep green quiet and that stretch lasts only a few miles or so. I thought more than once, well Kel you're spoiled because you lived on the Oregon coast. Then realized it's why people keep the magic up there such a secret, it's own private host. Kirk was all reserved and the other campsites too. I was deeply content already just with my drive and really wanted, needed big trees so anyhow so I turned right in Carmel--which means towards inland--and got a room for $50 when I got to Salinas.
This morning all I could see was no shower with the crisp yum of redwoods still in my hair and curled up some place with poetry and coffee. So I set out knowing that was it, magic vision flowing like it oughta or useta or is anyway again, and now on the other side of those coastal ranges I landed in the town of Saratoga in a wood floored cafe that roasts their own beans. I had the most blazin burrito for breakfast even though it was already close to noon. In this valley where around me the redwoods sing the sound you need absolute quiet to hear--well, yes. Cozy is the word.
Writing now and will scootch to the corner in a second for a over-stuffed couch and poems and the real work, which is translating to words the sea and tall-tree talk.
Humboldt in the morning, with soul-fam.
As it should be, for Giving Thanks.
November 13, 2014
Love letters, from Laguna.
The coffee shop I like to go to is on PCH. When I first moved here from HB coffee shop was the very first thing I looked up. You can sit in the alley and see and speak with the sea. A corner away is the beach where at the top of the street an oak tree stands so great-big and enchanted I am certain you can get to Avalon through there. Seriously, there's even a random statue of Pan on that corner which always makes me think about the artists then hippies that mapped this town. Supposedly, Ken Kesey lived on my street decades ago when it was a commune. There is an unfinished, always under construction straw-bale sprawling mansion which is the first house on the right and most times when the man is up there under the tarp with the yellow light on slapping on some earthen adobe I think of that. The free love vibes that built all the funky houses, tucked away back in the canyon where I live. The folks in and around town comfy-clothed with the little lippy smiles that embody that, still.
Sometimes people in their frenzy get under my skin which is what happened yesterday. I was in the alley fusing creative writing with thesis research and had really dropped in to the flow. This hetero couple shows up, he was loud, she louder and that's one of the first things I learned to hate about Southern California. The obnoxious warm-up suit men with too white teeth, yoga pants women with fake tits fake face or at the least fake blonde hair. These people always talk too loud and are purposefully drawing attention to themselves. Often they have a little annoying fuckn dog.
Our coffee shop almost never gets these types, who in my experience don't take the time to meander and sip and stare at the sea. Anyhow I got up from the alley as soon as they sat down and went inside to the high top in the window. It had just cleared out and the man was there, beginning the afternoon ritual of roasting the beans. It's the only coffee shop I've ever been a regular at that roasts their own. The whir noise and knee-deep smell has become part of the atmosphere for me of love.
It was a little after four so the sun was muted by the horizon clouds. Hazy orange light came through the front window in a slant from the blind pulled half down. I was writing and thought I saw a guy I knew. It started me thinking about how many men I've dated since I've been here. A lot. Real, adult dating. I don't drink so not talking hook-up or first night sex followed by oh shit what next. But like, I meet men on the beach or out and about or for a while on the dating site and then the customary phone calls and get to know you dates.
A face from the past was on my radar yesterday, we talked for a few minutes about how much we have in common because of our beach lifestyle. He made me think about this. Specifically: I have dated a lot of good, just not right for me men. Since right around when I moved to Laguna two years ago it started with a lifeguard in Newport and pretty much since has not stopped except for last year when I took three months off. When a funny outspoken Brazilian guy who drank too much got me playing the bullshit hang-out games I was so good at in Ocean City before I came west.
I am actually single right now, not dating anyone. Enjoying the golden silence, considering the momentum of my life. My life, built by me, measured out in breaths I take in and out and choices I've made. Clear seeing, looking out on a life made by my own two hands! I have only four months left of school, including this month. I am not ready to talk about that yet, but it is there like a new part of my breath and I am tending it everyday. As a rule, since a gnarly gnarly break-up in 2008, I keep my love life tight and quiet on the internet. We broke up the same month I got on Facebook, so it's sorta been how I reinvented. Figured out who I was, separate from a man. That's six years behind me now though--and in the orange haze light, that sun that spilled over my hands like it was meant to feed the ink from finger tap to screen, this all amounted in my head yesterday. Thinking on the men that have showed up as I've walked this whole, wild way made me pause and see this whole, wild way:
My god, I have been in Laguna over two years now. That is longer than I have ever lived anywhere, ever! Since I first left my mom's when I was 18. I have stayed in one place. I stayed! Even at Philosopher's Terrace, where I had my name on the lease from 98 to spring in 02, I still left to go live twice with mom. Alcohol and drugs. They'll do that shit to you.
I almost left, last summer. I almost fell back, like a wise woman can slide a minute
into dumb girl hang out games, to my old style of cut and run.
Last week I was picking out furniture for my sun deck, this little wooden alter built up out of the side of a Laguna Canyon wall. Underneath, my compost bin. Attached to post, my hammock swings. I just bought fins, snorkel gear, got my wetsuit out to live in my trunk for easy access. It would seem rather than making cut and run plans, my intent is to snuggle even further down and in.
What contentment, to nod at the coffee roaster, glance up from the orange-gold on my hands. It doesn't feel melodramatic anymore, like something I need to figure out. It just is, easy as how the same sun that rises will eventually go down. Love letters, from Laguna. From and to my heart, my soul. They are my own :)
Sometimes people in their frenzy get under my skin which is what happened yesterday. I was in the alley fusing creative writing with thesis research and had really dropped in to the flow. This hetero couple shows up, he was loud, she louder and that's one of the first things I learned to hate about Southern California. The obnoxious warm-up suit men with too white teeth, yoga pants women with fake tits fake face or at the least fake blonde hair. These people always talk too loud and are purposefully drawing attention to themselves. Often they have a little annoying fuckn dog.
Our coffee shop almost never gets these types, who in my experience don't take the time to meander and sip and stare at the sea. Anyhow I got up from the alley as soon as they sat down and went inside to the high top in the window. It had just cleared out and the man was there, beginning the afternoon ritual of roasting the beans. It's the only coffee shop I've ever been a regular at that roasts their own. The whir noise and knee-deep smell has become part of the atmosphere for me of love.
It was a little after four so the sun was muted by the horizon clouds. Hazy orange light came through the front window in a slant from the blind pulled half down. I was writing and thought I saw a guy I knew. It started me thinking about how many men I've dated since I've been here. A lot. Real, adult dating. I don't drink so not talking hook-up or first night sex followed by oh shit what next. But like, I meet men on the beach or out and about or for a while on the dating site and then the customary phone calls and get to know you dates.
A face from the past was on my radar yesterday, we talked for a few minutes about how much we have in common because of our beach lifestyle. He made me think about this. Specifically: I have dated a lot of good, just not right for me men. Since right around when I moved to Laguna two years ago it started with a lifeguard in Newport and pretty much since has not stopped except for last year when I took three months off. When a funny outspoken Brazilian guy who drank too much got me playing the bullshit hang-out games I was so good at in Ocean City before I came west.
I am actually single right now, not dating anyone. Enjoying the golden silence, considering the momentum of my life. My life, built by me, measured out in breaths I take in and out and choices I've made. Clear seeing, looking out on a life made by my own two hands! I have only four months left of school, including this month. I am not ready to talk about that yet, but it is there like a new part of my breath and I am tending it everyday. As a rule, since a gnarly gnarly break-up in 2008, I keep my love life tight and quiet on the internet. We broke up the same month I got on Facebook, so it's sorta been how I reinvented. Figured out who I was, separate from a man. That's six years behind me now though--and in the orange haze light, that sun that spilled over my hands like it was meant to feed the ink from finger tap to screen, this all amounted in my head yesterday. Thinking on the men that have showed up as I've walked this whole, wild way made me pause and see this whole, wild way:
My god, I have been in Laguna over two years now. That is longer than I have ever lived anywhere, ever! Since I first left my mom's when I was 18. I have stayed in one place. I stayed! Even at Philosopher's Terrace, where I had my name on the lease from 98 to spring in 02, I still left to go live twice with mom. Alcohol and drugs. They'll do that shit to you.
I almost left, last summer. I almost fell back, like a wise woman can slide a minute
Last week I was picking out furniture for my sun deck, this little wooden alter built up out of the side of a Laguna Canyon wall. Underneath, my compost bin. Attached to post, my hammock swings. I just bought fins, snorkel gear, got my wetsuit out to live in my trunk for easy access. It would seem rather than making cut and run plans, my intent is to snuggle even further down and in.
What contentment, to nod at the coffee roaster, glance up from the orange-gold on my hands. It doesn't feel melodramatic anymore, like something I need to figure out. It just is, easy as how the same sun that rises will eventually go down. Love letters, from Laguna. From and to my heart, my soul. They are my own :)
On their Facebook page! Me in the alley.
I put their sticker over the Starbucks logo on the plastic cup I reuse.
Which cracks people up. It goes everywhere I go.
July 25, 2012
All those words I can't contain
Once Erika (click on that link! watch her book trailer!!!) started an email with What a day, what a day...
It's a line from an Erykah Badu song. In the frenzy of my response, all those words I can't contain--I don't know if I ever got to the part of mentioning how often I find those words singing through my own head.
Under the palm trees in the dark, sweet breeze tonight. In my car, sunroof open, just past 11. On Instagram, which I tool around with at the strangest times....like standing in the middle of my room after a bike ride next thing for 10 straight minutes everything else but this damn dumb little phone dissolves like my brain has wires hooked to it, or I'll be on my feet in the kitchen ignorant to the dogs or my roommates me on my phone screen waiting for tea water boil. In my car, after the longest most eventful day ever, in the front seat after the lights and engines are off tonight. Smelling the cool, sweet breeze. Hearing the palm leaves fan. Tooling around on Instagram. Thinking What a day what a day.
Sometimes, it just feels nice to turn your brain off. To hit a button and then space. My ears were wet after Shavasana tonight. Seeping little leaky tears. D rang the gentle chime to pull us from meditation and I realized it was my last class with her here in Huntington, and I thought of when I started in March and my intentions for healing my body and strengthening, and how strong I am now. I laid there feeling my heart open from the center, feeling my energy running up and down the course of me smooth as if my spine were train tracks in a long looping line. Mandy's wedding invitation came in the mail. And this too, this too. So much else. These sisters of mine. Me, single, alone. Not at all alone. Them. Never at all. This too, this too my god this too. I can not even register today.
Life I thought, yoga tears wetting my face. I don't get you. Happy, grateful tears, and compassionate tears. Some of each, so close to the same. This too. So many different this-es, so many, many too-s.
What a day what a day~
It's a line from an Erykah Badu song. In the frenzy of my response, all those words I can't contain--I don't know if I ever got to the part of mentioning how often I find those words singing through my own head.
Under the palm trees in the dark, sweet breeze tonight. In my car, sunroof open, just past 11. On Instagram, which I tool around with at the strangest times....like standing in the middle of my room after a bike ride next thing for 10 straight minutes everything else but this damn dumb little phone dissolves like my brain has wires hooked to it, or I'll be on my feet in the kitchen ignorant to the dogs or my roommates me on my phone screen waiting for tea water boil. In my car, after the longest most eventful day ever, in the front seat after the lights and engines are off tonight. Smelling the cool, sweet breeze. Hearing the palm leaves fan. Tooling around on Instagram. Thinking What a day what a day.
Sometimes, it just feels nice to turn your brain off. To hit a button and then space. My ears were wet after Shavasana tonight. Seeping little leaky tears. D rang the gentle chime to pull us from meditation and I realized it was my last class with her here in Huntington, and I thought of when I started in March and my intentions for healing my body and strengthening, and how strong I am now. I laid there feeling my heart open from the center, feeling my energy running up and down the course of me smooth as if my spine were train tracks in a long looping line. Mandy's wedding invitation came in the mail. And this too, this too. So much else. These sisters of mine. Me, single, alone. Not at all alone. Them. Never at all. This too, this too my god this too. I can not even register today.
Life I thought, yoga tears wetting my face. I don't get you. Happy, grateful tears, and compassionate tears. Some of each, so close to the same. This too. So many different this-es, so many, many too-s.
What a day what a day~
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)