From the last chapter of
Cosmic Coastal Chronicles
But at that moment, the future didn’t matter one damn bit.
That
the surf would be small the next day, and that rain would muck up my
urge to kayak that coast didn’t occur to me. What hit me in
the
fading light was a song.
It was a song from the
“Fear” album by a
wonderful group called “Toad the Wet Sprocket.” The
song
was, “I Will Not Take These Things for Granted.”
And, watching the last light play out in
slow motion
over the endless Pacific Ocean, thinking of all I’d seen and
done
on this trip and a hundred others, I thought of the taking of things
for granted, of how much of life is wasted that way. I certainly will
not take any of these things for granted: perfect morning waves,
redwoods damp with spring rains and musty fungus, otters playing in the
kelp, moonlight flickering on dark bays, seals sunning on the rocks,
verdant coastal hillsides, wildflowers in the spring, winter storms in
remote canyons, shifting coastal dunes, laughing children at play,
glassy surf at remote beaches, starfish among the kelp, clam chowder on
the wharf, solitary, reflective beaches, wind swept coastal bluffs,
snowy mountains, raging rivers, lizards scurrying on trails, perfect
sandy coves, kayaking between storm tossed sea stacks, Carmel art
galleries, carving stone along side the road, capturing some fleeting
bit of beauty on canvas, kicking through layers of fallen forest
leaves, tracing lines of eroded cliffs, sharing a beer with strangers,
wading through cool rivers, sleeping under brilliant stars, deep
silences of the heart, singing in the shower, dancing naked in
waterfalls, looking down on cities, looking up at the universe, looking
out for eternity. I will hold all these things in my heart, but I will
not take them for granted.
With the waves of La Push, a summer
closes, a book
ends. And as winter fades into spring, I sense the promise of another
summer, another chance to get close to something elusive and wondrous,
to follow my own path deep into the mystery of it all, to spit in the
faces of the morbid and rabid gods that plague and pain us, to
transform the self with every shaft of light, to dance through the
fields of pure chance, to bend the spectrum of knowledge with the prism
of imagination.
I’ve never slept so
well or dreamed as
richly as I did that night. I drifted off with the knowledge that a
pearl of perfection was at the core of every day, that the trials and
tribulations of my life were simply games designed to add drama to
existence, to life in its richness, its complexity, its perfection, its
incredibly rich paradox: mortality and eternity locked in an embrace
that is simply this moment, this moment that echoes down the corridors
of space and time, this moment that is heaven, earth, matter, energy,
god, you, me, and everything.