Day 6 - back to the West & North coasts. I was really excited to revisit these strange and dramatic cliffs. The picture above is taken from a rocky ledge, looking straight down at the surf. The waves roaring in. It was truly something to behold.
I scrambled down through a maze of dried mud and volcanic rock and came into what I could only describe as a moonscape. Huge fields of craggy, pock-marked craters and boulders standing over the sea. Gray and holey as Swiss cheese. It was very, very strange and utterly awesome. Deadly quiet except for whistling wind and crashing waves.
The diversity of colour and texture and natural design on this island is almost obscene. Rich red canyon-like walls, valleys engorged with green.
I'll have to start blogging in the morning. When I get to it at the end of the day, I'm so worn out from all that exertion in the sun that I have no energy for writing. But there's a lot that I want to say. About being here, and not being there, about being here alone. About gratitude and disbelief, contentment and connectedness. About waking up, remembering where I am, and jumping out of bed like a little kid. I miss my big red cedars and ferns and icy lakes, but I just feel good in this climate. My body feels more alive and my mind more a part of my body. I don't know when or if this will change, but I am not lonely and I am not wishing I had a companion. (Even when I'm on a beach surrounded by families and couples.) It is amazing to feel insulated, in a way, from depression. I've always needed so much time alone but had a fear of being always alone, a fear that is much quieter now. 2 months will pass in the blink of an eye.
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