Winter/spring 2011 Life with Bob
On the beach; On the border
Heaven on earth is like this. The early morning sun is candent, lucent, brilliant. The air is cold, fresh, brisk, bracing, clean off the ocean, and the ocean is vast and fills the horizon from end to end. The sun is warm, oh so warm on the body, so deliciously warm. The waves hum and whir and swish and crash onto the sand and roll back out to sea with a rhythmical lapping sound that is gentle and comforting, calming, yet enlivening. The entire world vibrates with pure joy and happiness, with life and vitality. There is no sound but the gentle waves.
We are at home in the Stokemobile; it's like having a house that we can take anywhere we go, a temporary autonomous zone that pops up and then disappears as we choose. Our deliciously comfortable bed, the stove and sink, fridge, fantastic music, every little detail of home, so perfect in this little space, filled with love. Bob chats on the phone with her mom while I write, we sit and drink mate' all morning and bask in the sun and talk about life, our life together. We talk about hiking across Europe, about Sweden, living in New Zealand, surfing, having babies. Bob is like a happy, innocent child, thrilled and awed by every little detail of life itself. She is like a ball of pure light. There is joy radiating out of the air, the walls, the sheepskin on our bed, out of nothing at all.
A long deserted barrier island, a thin finger that splits the Gulf from the Laguna Madre. Behind us is a row of undulating dunes, tall and sexy, untouched, following the spine of the island to infinity. Beautiful shells of all kinds cover the beach. We left San Antonio and drove through the night for six hours and Bob read four research articles to me, half of my reading load for the week, while we drove.She is amazing. When we were only a few miles from La Frontera, the border with Mexico, out of the darkness a tiny little town appeared, and bleary-eyed and road-weary. Bob said "I'm hungry," and we pulled into a drive-through taqueria and ordered a giant fajita taco. It was the most delicious thing we'd ever eaten.The experience was wonderful. We spoke Spanish the entire time we were there and felt like we were back in our beloved Mexico.
In darkness we found a spot on the beach in the cold starry night and slept like babies to the sound of waves and cold wind. Now, in the fresh morning light we have made our little camp on the beach, drinking mate', repairing dings in our boards, getting ready for breakfast and absolutely happy. Bob is a living angel. There is no-one like Bob. Bob is the reason I waited all my life to find the right person. Because Bob *is* the right person, for me.
May everyone be happy, may all things be happy.
Part 2:
On the Beach; with Bob
In a cold rain we arrive at our favorite beach on the little barrier island off the coast of Texas. Originally I had decided to surf almost at the border with Mexico, but with three more hours of driving ahead of us, in the dark and rain, I detoured an hour back to our "home break". The beach was absolutely deserted. We parked and in the rain walked down the beach, happy to be out of the city, out of a box of a house filled with dead air, and into fresh air and wild waves. We felt alive. Back 'home' in the Stokemobile we set up our 'surround sound home theatre' and got in bed and watched Slum Dog Millionaire. After the movie, holding each other while the rain drummed on the roof and the wind rocked the van and the waves were loud and pounding in the night, I felt a simple bliss and peace. When I hold Bob and feel her silky skin and our warm bodies touching and find her soft lips in the darkness I am in a place of bliss, just pure love with no thoughts and no time.
In the cold rainy morning we opted for our favorite local cafe and split a plate of eggs over easy, hash browns, biscuits with sawmill gravy and lots of coffee. Then back to the beach in the cold rain and while my darling Bob paddles out into 50 degree walls of 7 foot white water I study. And the stoke is on.
After finishing one research article and taking notes I suit up and paddle out with Bob. it's insane. 8 foot crazy waves, ripping cross current, rain, grey, cold, chaotic. We surf like mad and have a blast. It's not just surfing; it's an adventure. Bob says most people wouldn't even paddle out in conditions like this. I don't disagree.
Night falls and I make a curried carrot dish with raisins, almonds and indian spices, served over dhal made with onions and apples and rice, topped with peanut chili sauce. It pours rain hard all night and the wind buffets the Stokemobile. We hold each other and it is paradise. Bob's skin is softer than silk.
In the morning we wake and make tea and surf and study. Life is good.
Look at the stars; look how they shine for you
Absolutely alone. As far as the eye can see. I do yoga on the dunes and feel my body purr and sink deep into that secret place, that place inside. The sun sets. A red ball over the blue water. The shadow of the dunes spreads along the sand until it swallows the Mothership. Bob comes up and we watch the sun sink and then the sky stain tequila sunrise shades of red, pink, yellow, orange...blue. I play guitar and sing. The cold seeps in. The wind bites. I suddenly feel so lonely, so hollow, as I once did alone on the deserted beaches of Turkey, hiking up the coast for days without seeing a soul, sleeping in ancient Greek ruins at night, playing my guitar, doing yoga, missing my friends so badly and having no way to escape the loneliness, the hollow, emptiness, except facing it, staring it in the face and going into it and through it. Yoga and push ups and meditation and relaxation techniques and little fires on the beach saved me.
Tonight, at the twilight crepuscular hour, as the feeling eats into me I feel utterly alone and adrift. Then I take action. Bob wants to make a fire, so as night falls, I dig a deep pit with my entrenching tool. By the time I am done and sweating with the effort and the sky is dark and full of first stars, the feeling is shaking already. I see Bob and her loveliness and turn on Yellow by Coldplay. Look at the stars, look how they shine for you. It's true. Look how they shine for you. And then I smell the woodsmoke and hear the flames lapping and crackling the wood and all is well again. Life. Short and sweet.
Waves of bliss
The fire licks its flames into the darkness under the starry skies and I sit in the cold sand and play my guitar and sing for me and for Bob and it is perfect. The waves, stars, cold, warmth of the flames, the beauty, the beauty. I open a bottle of Louis Jardot Beaujoalis and let it air and then Bob pours it into two wine glasses and brings it to the fire. We toast and sip and I play and sing. Bob goes back into the Mothership and returns with sliced baguette, parmasan, olive oil and fig spread. We eat and talk and play and sing. Bob wonders about the fire and we both wonder about the energy stored in the wood being released and are amazed. Bob speculates about our ancestral people. Her mind is amazing. I look at her and say "Let's make a baby darling." She asks when and I say, "Tonight darling."
The night passes. We look up to see a flattened orange moon rising out of the black void of the sea and into the black void of the sky. It is surreal and beyond beautiful. When the fire has burned low we wander in the moonlight up to the top of the dunes and look at the waves now glinting in the moonlight.
Finally, in the wee hours the cold finally drives into the Mothership and Bob gets undressed and into bed and I heat up the Italian pasta sauce I had made earlier and boiled spaghetti and grated fresh paramsan with my microplane. We ate spaghetti and meatballs and fresh bread. Then put on the mix I had made for Bob and slipped into each others' arms. Now, the moon has moved across the sky and hangs in the west over the Mothership, Bob has fallen into the sleep of satisfied exhaustion, and I, who rarely sleeps, listen to music and write about my life.
Surreality
We paddle out under a grey concrete sky into big cold pitching waves. Just the two of us. The sky turns smoke black, the water turns shades of emerald and jade green I have never seen before and all sense of depth perception is erased. The big waves continue to roll in on us but they are invisible until they break. The sky opens up and a heavy downpour falls out of the heavens. The rain drops hit the ocean and bounce off like drops of crystal. It is the most beautiful sight. Bob and I are mesmerized. Jade emerald infinity splashed by sparkling crystals of light. And we surf on.
Life on the beach with Bob
On the beach with my beloved Bob. We arrive at sunset and by the time we get the boards on the roof it's dark. Homemade chicken soup and thick crusted fresh bread with Icelandic butter for dinner. A long walk down the beach under the starry skies battered with streaky clouds. The light breeze is out of the SE. Back at the Stokemobile Bob puts on the mix I made for her and we listen to Sia, Breathe Me and set up the chess board for a game before our nightly movie. On the drive down she read my reading assignment for grad school to me. Life is wonderful here living like this on the beach. I love this girl so deeply, so tenderly, so profoundly that it almost breaks my heart and it opens up so much that I love the entire world.
Life on the beach
The joy of our life on the beach seeps into me more and more with time. The beauty of living with the rhythm of nature, the tides, moon cycles, night and day. The bracing ocean air, fresh and full of life. The changing weather. All the tiny little gifts that life brings that matter so much living this way. After a cold surf session in tumultuous waves we put our boards on the roof and head to the public showers in the falling dark with a scorching sunset disappearing over the dunes. I discover that shower number 2 which is supposed to be out of service is actually free and not only free but scalding hot instead of tepid like the dollar shower. So for free I soak in a hot shower and feel the joy of lathering up my body and washing the salt out of my hair.
As Bob and I are getting back in the Stokemobile a truck pulls up and a man offers us fresh, hot homemade tamales his wife just made. We get a dozen for seven dollars and drive down the beach to our spot and I make fresh salsa and we eat the delicious tamales and then cuddle up in the night. It's windy and stormy.
In the morning the world is grey and the sky is layered with clouds, like a swirled marble cake. I kiss Bob awake and we take a long morning walk on the beach and then come home and while she makes homemade pancakes with fresh blueberries and strawberries we listen to Coltrane and the waves and feel the cool breeze. The sun breaks through and the world is lit up. Life is wonderful this way. I wish I had never bought into society, even a little bit.
The fog
We awake to a world engulfed in a pink fog. Nothing is visible, the Stokemobile is a lone ghost in a ghostworld of nebulous pink cloud floating on the ground. While Bob sleeps I take a long walk down the beach, barefoot with my board shorts and a hoody. The world is silent and invisible. I am in love with morning.
Back at the car I wake Bob and make oatmeal and a smoothie and we head to the pier. The water is glassy and no one is out. In the heavy fog we paddle out to the T at the end of the pier and pick off wave after wave as they roll in in sets. Just the two of us. The water is the warmest it's been since we began surfing here in December. The world is silent in the fog. We practice cross-stepping and it's wonderful. As the day wears on the waves build. Bob surfs for 7 hours; she is very proud of herself.
I make an omelet for the two of us and then work on my research paper. We are happy.
The Wind
Bob and I take a hot shower together for free in our new-found treasure of the free shower stall. Feeling good and clean we stop by the IGA and rent a movie for a dollar and fill our water bottles for free. We are tired and it is a warm beautiful night and on a whim I take Bob out to dinner at a local Mexican restaurant and then we head to our spot on the beach. Cozy in bed with all the hatches and doors open we watch Inception on our surround sound system and listen to the waves. After we fall asleep, sometime in the night, the cold front moves in. The gusts are so strong that the Stokemobile shudders and groans. In my sleep I wonder if the boards will be ripped off the roof.
In the morning the temperature has dropped and the world is cold, the waves are flat and the sky is sunny. Bob kisses me awake and makes a late'. We hold each other and smile and feel the warmth and silky softness of our bodies and life is wonderful.
Sea Changes; Sea Storm
Sea Changes
Pellucid. I sit on a little wooden bench drinking a cup of fresh ginger tea with a little honey and a splash of half and half and melt into a state of silence and relaxation and appreciation of the absolute beauty and perfection of this moment. The ocean is pellucid. I have never seen it so still here. The sky, a giant dome over the perimeter of my vision, is a subtle pink smeared with smoky grey. The ocean is a candent verdigris, alive with an internal lucent glow. As I sit, wrapped in the wonderful silence, on a totally deserted beach at sunset the ocean colors change into hues and shades I have no name for, but each color is alive with its own internal glow, pale robin's egg blue, shades of green like that of a high mountain tarn on a clear day, even yellows and oranges, blended in with flashes that jump out to catch the eye. This is the most beautiful I have ever seen the Gulf.
Light slowly fades, night falls softly. I saunter back to the Stokemobile and we drive down and make camp for the night. In bed, under our down duvet, we watch Scott Pilgrim and then Winter's Bone on our surround sound. We sleep and in the night the wild north wind returns and rocks and buffets the Stokemobile and I smile in my dreams.
In the morning Bob slides open the side door and the ocean is glowing with light. The world is sparkling silver shards of light. The wind out of the north has steadied and quieted. We make ginger tea and fresh smoothie with blueberries and bananas. Then Bob makes homemade French toast with baguette. The beach is deserted, the waves are rolling back in. We are parked in our home on the beach beside the waves. I feel like we are on holiday on the coast of France in some tiny seaside village. I feel like I'm 18.
After write I will go for a long walk along the beach and dunes, then finish my assignments for grad school, and then I will surf until dark. We will get our delicious free hot showers and make dinner and then cuddle up for the night and tomorrow we will do it again. Bob nuzzles into me and I feel her body pressing against me. I realize how much of being healthy depends on loving physical contact and exercise. If you're looking for "The Secret", you don't need to buy the video, just love someone and exercise. Life; short but sweet for certain.
The Storm
In a deep dark sleep I feel Bob moving and slipping softly out of bed. I am too deep under the surface of dreams to stir. Gradually sounds seep into my consciousness and I realize she is moving around in the Stokemobile, doing something. Then she is driving us somewhere. The Stokemobile comes to a stop and finally she says, "Sweetie, we're at the pier; I made you breakfast in bed and it's storming. Prop up on these pillows." And sure enough my beautiful Bob has a tray with homemade ginger tea, a grapefruit already sliced, and a bowl of our special oatmeal, with goji berries, raisins, walnuts, sliced banana, rice milk, topped with our favorite granola. And a smoothie. Even though it's 7 AM it's dark outside like night because of the storm. We felt the wind shift to the south last evening (we are always acutely aware of the wind and swell direction, tides and weather changes here) and in the night it began to blow hard and rock us.
Now, while my darling Bob paddles out into 6 foot whitewater chaos, I finish the assignment due today at 5 PM so that I can paddle out and join my Bob in that madness of waves and tides. And I revel in the wild storm and the grey day. Life on the beach is such a good life for us. We are self-contained and off the grid. We can spend 5 days a week here, getting delicious hot free showers in the evenings, surfing and playing chess all day, completing all my studies, cooking delicious homemade food in our little home on wheels, and never spending a dime. We can play the guitar and sing, read books, walk on the beach, go birding, watch movies at night in bed on our 'surround sound' macbook and speakers. This is the life I was born for and Bob too. We just need to find a country with lots of waves, beaches, mountains and land, with a dearth of people, a plethora of nature, an abundance of freedom. As I finish my studying the sky turns pitch black and the wind begins to howl and pick the top of the waves up and rip them away into the void. The temperature drops from 60 degrees to 35 degrees in less than thirty minutes. I grab my board and step into the malestrom.
A place without much crime, where the government's priority is concern for its citizens, where health care and education are for all, where corporations don't make the rules and pull the strings. Where food is safe to eat and free of GMOs and pesticides. A place where we can wake up every morning to the sound of waves, birds, wind, breathe in fresh air, run naked, swim in clean rivers, and watch our children grow.
At least some of that dream exists in New Zealand. And that's where our sights are set.
Avanti!
Life at Home with Bob
Five days a week we are on the beach, living a life we both love. Surfing, cooking, living next to the sky and earth and ocean. Little things are miracles and blessings. The wind shaking the car at night, the feel of the cold water, the wind and the joy of the warmth of the sun on the rare times it makes an appearance, the waves we surf each day, usually alone. Each moment is a kind of miracle of happiness in its own way. Even the long drive is a blessing in its own way because Bob reads my weekly articles and readings to me and we use the 7 hours as study time for grad school.
Back in San Antonio for the two days a week we are here for class life is still wonderful in its own way. Tonight we make homemade pizza from the dough up, and a big roaring fire in the hearth. We lay on the lambskin in front of the fire and hold each other and whisper and kiss and eventually fall asleep in front of the embers. In the long cold nights we sleep wrapped up in each other, intertwined and are in each others' dreams, always surfing. In the mornings we make homemade Belgian waffles, smoothies, espresso and steamed milk with sugar. And we prepare to leave again. This is life now. School is under control; I am getting the hang of being a grad student and enjoying the field of my studies. Bob and I are full of our plans for moving to New Zealand or someplace where nature and quality of life are top on the list of priorities, excited to have babies soon. Life is in bloom.
2/16/11
The Rose that Keeps on Giving
This Valentine's day I had big plans for Bob. I wanted to have a dozen roses delivered to our house to surprise her, get her chocolates and special pastries and treats, and make her a romantic candlelit dinner. But of course Bob insisted on being here at the beach to surf.
On Valentine's day morning I told Bob I was a little disappointed because there was no way to fulfill all my Valentine day plans for her here on the island. She told me that instead of all those 'things' which cost a lot of money, she'd rather surf with the one she loved the most and just get a treat from a bakery for her special Valentine present.
On the way to find a bakery she said, "Instead of spending so much money on roses let's go buy a kite and a frisbee; that will be our presents to each other." Bob knew how much I wanted a frisbee and I knew how much she wanted a kite. She found a frisbee for me at the grocery store and put Valentine cards all over it they were giving away at the store. She was so happy, like a little kid that has done something so special. We went to the kite shop but Bob refused to let me spend twelve dollars on a kite for her. She said it was way too much money. That's my Bob--if it doesn't come from a thrift store or out of dumpster she's suspicious of it. Ah, Bob.
Still searching for a bakery, she told me that since we already had each others' love and were so happy, maybe it would be more special to celebrate the true meaning of Valentine's day by finding someone who looked lonely and loveless and give that person a Valentine rose because it would change their day and maybe their life. I thought that was a wonderful idea. That's my Bob.
When we finally tracked down a bakery we struck up a conversation with the woman behind the counter and she told us that for her Valentine's day was a sad and lonely day because her boyfriend had left her after five years and she had no one to love her or share Valentine's day with. Bob and I looked at each other. After we ate our giant homemade cinnamon role, our special Valentine treat to each other, we went to the flower shop and picked out a single, beautiful rose.
We drove back to the cafe and went inside and Bob gave the rose to Donna, the woman behind the counter. She was a little bit stunned, and so happy, her face lit up. We told her everyone deserves to be loved. When we left I told Bob that that was the best Valentine treat we could share, to give happiness to someone else. Bob said "And maybe that rose will do even more good; maybe she'll realize that love is something to share and she'll give the rose to someone and they'll give the rose to someone and it will make people happy all over the world." I love my Bob. There is no one in the world like my Bob.
Happy Valentine's day. Share the love with the one's who don't have it; they need it the most.
2/22/11
In the Wedding Zone
Jennifer and I had come to an impasse with wedding plans. We couldn't find a date, everything was complicated, we didn't have enough money to invite all my friends, we didn't want to have it in the Greek church because it meant nothing to us; we had just given up on it altogether and were thinking we should 'elope' and go down to the courthouse and do it and then start working on babies. And then Jennifer's mother and grandmother came to visit and within 48 hours everything fell into place. It was amazing to watch them at work.
So now, after only a day of planning and talking it looks like we may have a wonderful wedding after all, albeit a small one. Jennifer's family's acceptance and unconditional love was amazing to watch. Her grandmother, who is an artist, is making her wedding dress (they already designed it), the church and reception hall have been arranged, her step-dad will roast a pig and her family will make the side dishes. It's is amazing how overnight we went from lost at sea to dialed in.
The only obstacle that we still face is not being able to afford to invite all of the people who I really love, because weddings, even do-it-yourself ones, are expensive. I realize the people who I love the most and who know me and love me the most, the ones who I want to celebrate the most important day of my life, aren't my family at all; but my beloved friends. But the budget may constrain the wedding to immediate family. In any case I will keep everyone posted, and in spirit and in my heart everyone I love the most will be invited in some fashion. The date is going to be January 7th. Right after I graduate and the holidays are over.
I am constantly awed that I have Jennifer, the absolutely most wonderful match for me in the world.
Love and blessings.
Phoenix
3/6/11
38 degrees and beautiful; near death and new life
I awake wrapped up in my beautiful golden Bob, like a warm golden blanket. How two people can sleep so soundly completely intertwined and wrapped together I don't know; but we do. I open my eyes and see her ocean eyes and the beautiful curves of her body in the soft morning light and as always, my heart beats faster and I pull her close and whisper into her ear, "Tesoro, precioso, raro--corazon mio". The cold air through the open window feels wonderful against my skin where it's exposed. I slept like a baby.
In the backyard, under the tree, we drink Trinity pu-ehr. It's nectar is sweet and rich. The warm rays of the morning sun compete with the cold air against my skin. The big tree is covered with fresh new bright green leaves. Winter is making one last merciful come-back before the Texas heat begins in earnest.
I remember one year ago, sitting here each morning alone, drinking my tea and watching the new buds come, the buds unfurl, the tiny leaves coming to life. A year in my life has passed. This year most of my mornings are spent surfing on our little barrier island. There is not so much time spent in my backyard watching the leaves make their cycle from birth, senility and return to the earth.
Was it two years ago that I returned from India, driven home by the fevers that brought Death leaning over my shoulder and whispering in my ear of the fleeting mortality of my existence? I remember then, in those cold moments of truth in India when the realization of Death brought with it the realization that the one thing in my life I had missed was the love of a family. Back home my life was changed. No longer was I content to work for the NPS in the summer, surf in Baja in the winter and let life flow. I wanted a family. But I thought it was too late and that I had missed my chance.
I remember the decision to start grad school, how I fell into it, almost as an afterthought. One day I was surfing in Baja, the next I was at SXSW in Austin getting a phone call and being offered another NPS job in Alaska for the summer, and then, before I knew it, I was enrolled in the MA-TESL program at UTSA. Overnight. The rest of the summer was spent back 'home' in my beloved Santa Cruz. I didn't know then that perhaps that was my Santa Cruz swan song, that all things change, that everything comes to an end and new things begin.
My first semesters in grad school and here in San Antonio were so hard, such culture shock, that each morning as I drove past I-10 West on the way to school to teach yoga, I had to fight myself from taking the exit that would have me back in my beloved Cali in just 20 hours, surfing and eating VG donuts. I hated grad school and San Antonio; I wanted to quit so badly and go back home to Cali, to Santa Cruz, to Cardiff, to the waves and the lifestyle and people I loved.
And then, last summer, by chance, by fate, by karma, by the universal law of attraction, by vibration, by destiny, because I deserved it and wanted it badly...I met a girl in a green hat. And I worked hard, I gambled everything for love, I changed my plans, against good advice and conventional good judgment, I drove 1500 miles in three days and took a chance that no gambler would have bet on.
Now, my beloved Bob is making homemade chicken soup, I write peacefully in the sun and cold air, she walks up from behind me and kisses my lips and runs her fingers though my hair and says "I love you sweetie." I lean my head back and smile and purr and let her kiss me. She says "Are you OK?" and I smile. I am halfway done with this semester and have made all As in grad school. I have turned down a job with DLI that paid $60,000 a year with full benefits because I don't want to teach English to foreign military so they can drop bombs. And now I have one class to take in the summer, one class plus comps in the fall, and on December 14th it's over and I take the walk and graduate. I've already begun contacting employers in New Zealand, in preparation for employment as soon as I graduate. On January 7th my beloved Bob and I will marry.
Somehow, in some way, life unfolds. When you believe and hold firm in what your heart tells you and disregard the rest of the world's good advice and common sense, then things unfold. Because the world's common sense is common for certain, but it's not sense; it's convention. And I have always lived an unconventional life and been led by an unconventional path.
Avati! Into the unknown forever.
3/17/11
On the Beach/Beauty walks a rasor’s edge
On the Beach
My beautiful beloved Bob sleeps with her head on my chest, touching me and whispers in her sweet sleepy voice, "I love you." I, as usual, am eternally wide awake, looking up at the night sky, feeling the strong breeze off the ocean blowing on my skin, cool and fresh, so full of everything that is good. The mothership rocks and shudders in the wind, my hair blows across my face; this wind is pure heaven. The sunset was golden, pink, orange, pastel; lingering. The night is fresh, the moon glitters, the dunes are black silhouettes. I hear the waves building in the darkness and feel excited. I am at peace; content and satisfied in a way that only love can bring. I am excited because in the morning, not long from now, I will be waxing my board, paddling out and surfing head-high waves. And that is as good as it gets in this lifetime. To be on the ocean, riding waves, that is enough. Content because I love the one woman I want in this lifetime and she loves me. The peace and joy of her warmth, her breath, her arms and fingers holding me, her heart beating against my chest, her blue eyes, golden hair and sweet voice, whispering to me.
This evening, we crossed over on the ferry, drove onto the beach, parked in the sand and then walked the beach until sunset. Back at the mothership I opened a Beaujolais and cut a pear into slices, spread a delicious raw bleu onto the pear, sprinkled it with walnuts and then drizzled raw honey on that. It was sublime. Then fresh baguette with brie and Icelandic butter and fig preserves. It was sublime, the flavors and textures melting in my mouth, There is no substitute for quality. And now, I wait for morning to come, In the arms of this beautiful night.
Beauty Walks a Razor's Edge
Before dawn, a cold wind howls around the mothership, my beautiful Bob sleeps while I sit next to her, feeling her warm skin against mine. My upper body is warmed by my hoody and I write in the darkness. We are parked in our new favorite camp site. At the north end of our barrier island there is a channel. Following the edge of the channel west, the known world ends in a little alcove bounded by the channel on one side and dunes covered in coastal wetland flora on the other sides. Across the channel is a deserted island, the water's edge is only 20 feet from the mothership; it's lovely. In this beautiful sanctuary we are tucked in beside the water and between the dunes. Yesterday a pod of dolphins swam leisurely, almost close enough to touch, in front of us all morning, with pelicans, fishing together. After an intense day of surfing we came here yesterday evening and as Bob made espresso and I laid on the couch, black clouds drifted in in layers and formations out of the north, the wind shifted, beautiful rain began pelting the mothership and the temperature dropped 12 degrees. It was absolutely beautiful. We spent a cold stormy night here, ecstatic.
Yesterday morning, dawn patrol, paddling out along the pier into walls of whitewater, a strong rip suddenly pulls me under the pier between the concrete pylons. I paddle desperately to get out before the next wave comes, but it comes. I roll off my board and eject it out from under the pier and the wave knocks me into the pylon and wraps my board around the back side of it. Shit. I swim desperately away from the pylon dragging my board attached to my ankle, and get clear before the next wave comes. Eventually I make it outside, offshore, way, way offshore. Waves are breaking from three different directions at once, there is a strong current pulling one way and weird rips pulling other directions, and the wind is blowing hard from yet another direction. When Nietzsche said, 'that which does not kill us makes us stronger', I am sure he was referring to Texas surf. The word that comes to my mind when I am paddling out in this ridiculous chaos is 'shit storm'.
The set waves are six feet and wall up and pitch. The ocean is pure chaos. A big wave pitches my way and I paddle and at the last second I am suspended, hanging on the top of the wave, floating, just as it's breaking beneath me, and then I drop off the top. The wave is so steep that my board is sticking out at right angles to the wave, sticking into thin air, while the wave, concave, is breaking under me. Then I am falling and floating to my feet as I fall, standing on the very back edge of my board, leaning far backwards, squatting low, watching most of my board floating in space as I fall, not even touching the water. I land and stick it. I can't believe I stick it, but I do. It's a great ride and as I kick out and turn to paddle back outside a huge whitewater wall breaks on me and I hear a loud snap. Jeez, what was that? I come up and realize what it was. It was the sound of my leash breaking. My board is gone. I can't see it anywhere in the white water madness and I all I can do is start swimming toward shore which is very far away. Bob heard my leash snap way outside and catches a wave, rides it past me toward shore, looking for my board. Eventually we recover it and I decide to paddle back out and surf leash-less.
The rest of the day is not so much imprinted in my mind as in my cells. Wave after wave after wave of huge drops, pitching, convex, explosive, chaotic waves and whitewater, and steep air drops, sticking them time and again and not believing I am sticking them. Even Bob is impressed. Impressing Bob with my surfing is about the best thing I could do. She is an amazing surfer. We catch a wave together and ride side by side. It's a good day.
Back inside the mothership we make genmaicha tea and glow, high from our session. I put a new leash on my board. Life moves forward. Avanti.
3/29
Perfect Perfect Perfect
There are moments when everything comes together into an experience of perfection. This is one.
We crossed over on the ferry and drove to our secret niche on the island. I took a walk along the water to unwind from the four hour drive and did yoga alone in the breeze as the evening descended. It felt so good to be in my body, opening my eyes, mind and body, breathing; back together with my lifelong friend, yoga. After asanas I sat on a big granite stone to meditate and when I opened my eyes there was something large in the water in front of me. It was a big sea turtle, it's back covered with barnacles. It raised its head high up out of the water to look at me, a few feet away. I looked back. It was one of those magic animal connection moments that has happened to me before. Once in Costa Rica, meditating on a rock in the dry tropical forest in the evening, I opened my eyes and a boa constrictor was slithering across the jungle right up to my rock, right up to me, then swaying his body and head back and forth in front of me, tongue flicking, sensing me, surprised by my presence. I sat and meditated, looking at him until he turned and reversed his trajectory. I reached out and touched him, stroked him. Amazing. My first contact with a boa in the rain forest.
Here and now, after yoga, I returned to the mothership where my beautiful Bob had laid out a smorgasbord for us--a fresh baguette, Luis Jardot beaujolais, Irish butter, fig spread, an assortment of olives from Mt. Athos and Halkidiki Greece, (where I once hiked and slept on the beach for a few weeks), and my three favorite cheeses, a raw goat, delice de bourgogne--a triple cream brie, and raw bleu D' Auvergne, the creamiest blu cheese I have ever had the bliss to taste.
We sat, enjoying this delicious feast, feeling the fresh breeze, looking at the water, listening to the mix I made for her, and feeling absolutely happy. Then we had homemade spaghetti and sauce.
This place, for me, is as beautiful and wonderful as any place I have ever been in my life. And I am here now. And it's perfect. Bob, sings softly to the music, the candle flickers in the strong breeze. In the morning we paddle out and surf. And life is that good. It's perfect.
Heaven Strikes Again
Stardust by Ben Webster softly fills the Mothership while my beautiful Bob makes nori rolls. A perfect breeze blows softly through; the air is cool and sweet. I have just returned from my evening stroll and yoga session at the end of the jetty. Dolphins swim languidly, arcing out of the water in groups in front of us, sea turtles pop their heads up everywhere. It is so beautiful and perfect here in our secret spot. Heaven on earth. We had a wonderful surf session for a few hours and then Bob made homemade walnut raisin pancakes for lunch with honey, black strap molasses and real whipped cream. Delicious. We have a giant watermelon I can't wait to slice into. Life is so very very good.
To the present moment.
4/3
Sunday Morning Symphony
The air is filled with a symphony of birdsong. So many different species and individual birds are singing from every direction that a thick tapestry of sound floats all around me. The air is cool and breezy, moist, the sky still pale, colorless with a layer or low, blowing, misty early-morning cloud. The tree branches, heavy with fresh spring leaves now, dance in the breeze. The air is sweet with the fragrance of spring. I am in my backyard, under my tree, early Sunday morning. As the end of the semester and deadlines draw near, I have to stay home from the beach to work on my research paper and other assignments. I drink a delicious green tea, grown by my friends' family in Japan and gifted to me. It is a healing nectar, pale, transparent gold in my porcelain cup, warm and soft, going down my throat to my belly, blossoming in my mind.
This morning I unwrapped myself from my beautiful Bob to leave her sleeping sweetly in our bed. Every day I love her more, each day my love deepens, grows, becomes more solid and certain. My entire life I dreamed of this kind of love, that she would come, that love could be like this, that life could be like this. And now my dream has come true. Why am I so lucky, so blessed, I can't say. I can only say that I am blessed with the most wonderful gift anyone could want--the joy, the light, the happiness, the warmth of loving and being loved by the one person who is perfect and right for me and who I waited my entire life to find. Blessed with a love that heals. Blessed with the love of my angel and my precious treasure, my Bob.
4/6
Moments or Silence/In Praise of Yoga
In the black of night I wake up curled around my beautiful Bob. My head is on her breast and I can hear her heart beating in my ear and it calms and soothes me. Her fingers are wrapped around my arm and her legs wrapped around mine. For a long time I lay there feeling her breathing, melting in to her heartbeat. I let out a long sigh and feel the tension release out of me; a smile comes to my face. I think of all the years I spent without her, the nights I woke up alone, thinking that's the way my life was going to end up; that I had squandered all the love I had been given. And now I wake up to the warmth and silkiness of her skin and body, the sound of her sweet laughter and purring, even in her sleep. For a long time I lay there, just being with her. Then I slip out of bed.
In the backyard, it is still black, the morning is cool. I put on my sweats and socks and a Patagonia jacket and stand still under the tree in the dark, just being. Then I begin yoga without even thinking about it. I go into posture after posture in the cold morning air, the sky begins to fade from black to grey, birds begin waking. When I am done, I feel like someone has given me a shot of electricity. I feel alive. I remember the years I lived at Kripalu, one of the stock phrases we would ask after each posture when teaching yoga to the guests was "Notice if your body feels any difference after the posture than it did before?" I think to myself, "God yes it does!" I feel full of life and I'm vibrating. Yoga is a magic wand, wave it every morning for half an hour or an hour and your quality of life and health, for the rest of your life, is guaranteed to have an exponential leap for the better.
Still buzzing from yoga, I make one of my finest green teas, a gift from my friend, from her family tea farm in Japan. In my porcelain cup it has the color of rich golden amber, clear and lovely, with an aroma that brings instant calm to the mind. Its warmth and flavor soothe me. The birds sing. I am alive. Another day I am alive and not just alive, but happy and content.
I have worked hard on the paper I am writing, and have promised Bob we will go back to the beach this week at least one last time before school ends. And then we will be off for an adventure in Baja.
Life. Avanti.
4/11/11
Che Guevara and South America
Dawn broke dead still. The most immediate and salient impression was the cessation of the howling wind that had rocked the Mothership all night. Expecting big (and possibly clean) surf, we drove directly to the pier. I pulled the boards off the roof while Bob brewed monkey picked Tieguanyin tea. The morning is soft and gentle, sea gulls incessantly chiding the light breeze. Bob squeezes fresh grapefruit juice and then we make our power smoothie.
As we sip tea and have breakfast we talk about different adventures and ideas that we might pursue in the near-future, which nearly always revolve around New Zealand, with a smattering of Alaska and Hawaii, Southwest France and Europe thrown in on the periphery.
Two nights ago, we saw the film, "The Motorcycle Diaries", about Che Guevara's youthful motorcycle ride across South America, culminating in the pivotal experience of working in a leper colony in the Amazon basin. An experience that changed the course of his life. The cinematography was especially moving to me because many of the locations in the movie were the same places I had visited on my two and half year journey through Latin America when I was the same age as Che when he embarked on his adventure. In fact, during the early part of my trip, when I lived in Nicaragua during the war, Che became an inspirational figure for me, because he embodied the spirit of the true revolutionary, revolution as an act of love.
On his journey he rode a beat-up motorcycle with a friend; they were penniless for most of their journey, surviving by their wits. I hitch-hiked mostly, traveling alone, and like Che and his friend, I was almost completely penniless for most of the time I was away. I also learned to live by my wits and exploit every skill I had in order to feed myself.
Often when traveling, people would either ask me how I had the money to travel, or tell me they would love to be on a similar adventure if only they had the money. What I realized at some point in that trip is that it no longer had anything to do with money; lack of money was just an excuse to justify not having the courage to let go and jump into the current of your dreams and follow them wherever they led. When people would tell me those things or ask me how I did it, I would tell them the truth: That traveling has nothing to do with money. You simply decide where you want to go next, and you go there. That's all. It's that simple. If you don't have money, you hitch hike, when you get hungry enough, you will find a way to eat.
When I was hungry I suddenly found a deep well of talents and skills I could call on to make money to get food. Even though I didn't have a college degree at that time, at different places on that journey I wrote dispatches for an international press, taught English, taught yoga, became a massage therapist, performed in bars playing guitar and singing, opened an underground club in Argentina, taught wind-surfing lessons, worked with Wright whales, worked on a fishing boat fishing for salmon, was a naturalist guide, a scuba diver, and ultimately accepted a job directing an English school in the Amazon Basin in Puerto Velhu, Brazil. All because I needed to eat. And without a degree; with no experience in most of the things I did to earn my daily bread. I made up the skills I needed as I went, I invented myself as the need arose. Because hunger, like sex, is a very powerful motivating force.
Watching Che and his friend struggle and suffer in the film reminded me so much of my own trip. And his experience in the leper colony recalled for me how my own trip culminated in my decision to return to the US and attend Prescott College to create a wilderness program for under-privileged kids and how that led to so many of the things I created later in life. The film reignited a spark in me about the beauty and vastness of South America. I wondered what it would be like to take our mothership and just start driving south, no destination in mind, like the original trip, just drive south and see what we find.
Life is an open book. We write the chapters. Some people plan each word with painstaking, excruciating care, like Virginia Woolf, others are stream of consciousness writers like Jack Kerouac, or even cut and paste randomly like W. S. Burroughs. What's your style of writing your life?
4/26/11
24 Eclectic, Espresso, Work
I slowly drift awake. The first thing I do is turn on KCRW 24 Eclectic and start streaming music; wonderful, wonderful music. In the kitchen I grind fresh beans from Matagalpa, Nicaragua, where I once lived for two months, in a hammock in the mountains, under a techo, during a war. The coffee beans are oily, their smell is so rich; instant bliss. I add water to the Bialetti stove-top espresso steamer, fill it with the fresh ground coffee and put it on the burner on low heat. Then I froth the milk with a little sugar in the blender until it's a mountain of thick foam. I pour this into a heavy cast iron and enamel sauce pan and heat the frothy milk and sugar until it steams. The espresso begins to percolate up and fill the top of the steamer. I pour the milk into my cup, then add the espresso on top in a spiral.
Finally, Bob and I sit together in the backyard, drinking this amazing espresso, listening to the music pouring out of the big PA speakers from my old band, while she nurses and fawns over all the new spring plants racing up in our garden. She knows each plant on a personal level. As I sit, I am already working on my final research paper of the semester in my mind. This is it. One major research paper and I am done. And what an opus of a paper.
Now, with David Bowie's 'Seven Years in Tibet' shivering the walls, I sit and open my books, my sources, my macbook, and prepare to crank out the final four days of writing.
And then, the summer is on. The waves are on. The sun and salt, the waves, the foam, the desert, the wax, and boards, the gliding; it's on. Summer surf, Baja; on.
