After the storm

I have a few photos showing the aftermath of the December storms in the Manzanita and Nehalem areas of the Oregon coast. See the photo panel on the right for more of them >>

The photo below shows trees down in my driveway…where I usually park!

Following the golden thread…

I went to short sands beach (at Oswald West) for the sunset and low tide. Had that funny feeling that I was there to meet someone or something was going to happen. Poked around the tidepools, took a bunch of photos, there were a few others around on the large beach. Nope, none of them are who I’m supposed to meet. Plopped down finally to watch the last of the sun dip down and shoot some awesome pictures of it. Chatted with a young couple close-by. Then I saw a young man, who looked sort of native american, coming down the path to the beach. He walked by, right into the frame of the pictures I was shooting (photo above) and played a few bars on a wood flute. The tune was native american in genre. Then I “knew” positively that was the person I was supposed to meet. How to do that? I felt a little funny about just walking up to him and let him pass on by. I finally got the courage to walk up and start a conversation with he and his friends. he wasn’t native that he knew of but told me a funny old nehalem legend he knew…that didn’t seem like it was the real reason I was to meet him. (the legend was about the spirit on the river that was tempting a woman. Her husband tried killing him but found he could be killed by shooting him in the anus, hahaha.)

So, I decide to go and they walked me back as it was dark and they were worried about their friend who was supposed to meet them. a girl. I felt bad but had to go so I left them my phone number and a huge search lamp I had in my truck (a friend’s) to look back up the trail. I told them to call for help if they didn’t see her in the next 15 minutes or so. As i left the Oswald West campground parking lot I suddenly thought I knew where the girl was. I pulled into the Neahkahnie trailhead at the top of the hill and there was this young woman in a hoodie. I called out to her as she looked scared. When I climbed out of the truck and walked over to her she couldn’t stop hugging me. Her hands were like ice. We drove back down to the bus and all were reunited.

Now it wasn’t such a huge stretch to decide to go look at the trailhead; anyone could had deduced that is the first place you should look for her. Earlier, while on the beach, I kept feeling there was something that demanded my attention over in that direction. I kept feeling like I was supposed to notice something or I was missing something.

It seems that during her adventure she had done some unsafe/unwise things looking for that beach. She was climbing around alone on the cliffs at smuggler’s cove as it was low tide and she thought that was the beach. those cliffs are very dangerous and the beach doesn’t even exist at high tide. She was bruised and scratched, scared and cold and had met some undesirables along the way, too. She almost ran back into the woods when i pulled up except she saw i was a woman.

So, I we went and had dinner and I invited them to come and park the bus at my place for the night. We told a lot of stories around the woodstove and Toni (the girl), Lee (the guy with the flute) and Shawn slept in the guest room.

They just were at Burning Man and are traveling the US in a bus that runs on vegetable oil filming and writing about their experiences….guess they ran into a real whopper!

The Story of Michael of the Sunflowers …

Michael was a young, Mayan Sun-God who loved life. He was happy and loved his friends. Often, he attended and held great feasts for his beloved friends, with music, dancing, food and lots of antics like fire performers and jugglers.

 

One day, during just such a feast, Michael was overcome with drink and ergot. So were his friends which included his sister the FireGoddess and his brother, Bacchus. Because of all of the heat and passion of the music and dancing and crowds Michael felt hot and uncomfortable and he sought the cool of the river that ran alongside the Palace. His brother and sister knew he was confused and cried for him to stay close-by, not to go to the river alone. They were concerned that he would not be safe in the state he was in. Michael, being a bit of a trickster and the master of his own life, and, in the altered state he was in, decided, as usual, to forge his own way, apart from his beloved family.

 

He wandered into the night, away from the confusing crowds, the over-loud music and the smell of the festival.

 

Ahhh, the cool, darkness surrounded him and hugged his body…he ventured onward. FireGoddess and Baccus, seeing his form recede into the night, anguished. They reached out and cried for him. “Michael, Michael…come back to us. We can not follow you into the night and we are afraid for you.” They loved him so much. They stayed back, wrung their hands and hugged each other in fear.

 

Michael forged onward. He was confused and felt hot…oh, so hot. If only he could find some peace and relief. His brilliant countenance faded into the balmy eve as he mounted the bridge. The bridge took him west and away from his loved ones and the festivities of the Goddess and the safety of the Palace. He ran, pulling at his hot, uncomfortable vestments.

 

…to be continued

Spiders from the past…

[thoughts when I couldn't sleep on 4.18.2005]

“One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small,

And the ones your mother gives you don’t do anything at all;

go ask alice, when she’s 10 feet tall.

When men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go,

and the white queen is talking backwards, and the red queen’s on her head,

remember, what the doorman said,

keep your head

keep your head”

[white rabbit: jefferson airplane]

You’re so seductive, a warm silk cocoon that, strand by strand–starting at my head–envelopes me. Until I’m totally wrapped in a fuzzy, womb-like cover, head-to-toe. For a while, I’m ecstatic! Relishing the cocoon’s soft embrace.

But, then, little-by-little, I emerge from my false ecstasy and realize that the womb is encasing me–with no way out! But…by then, it’s too late. All I can do is lie in wait for the sting I know will come–and the burn of the poison running through my veins, my body, my soul–and the pit of despair with unclimbable walls as I realize, yet again, I’ve let myself be seduced by a force that’s only end–for me–is an inescapable spiral of pain of the body, mind and spirit.

Yet, still, she calls to me with her siren’s voice that entices me saying, “It’s okay, think of my warm, silky embrace. Think of the wonderful ecstasy of forgetfulness…

You’re smart enough to toy with the poison, play the game and escape, unscathed.”

And, while I know that it’s a lie–I can’t–I never have been able to play this game and escape unscathed.

Even so, I find myself thinking–maybe, this time, just maybe, next time…

And on it goes.

“…and the ones your mother gives you don’t do anything at all…”

[white rabbit: jefferson airplane]