As you can see from the pics below (dated Wednesday), I did have some blogging attempts. But they fizzled out. I think it's because there is a lot going on, but not much that I can put into words. There are a lot of things about to happen, or that could potentially happen, or that I am wishing will happen - things that are just between me and the ol' universe at this point. Maybe I feel that speculating out loud makes it harder to be accepting of the outcome. Whatever is or is not brewing out there in the cosmos is a delicate and baffling matter. Suffice it to say, the heart is full, the head is confused, and experience says let it stay that way: stay calm, be brave, wait for the signs.
Now, as for more earthly matters...
I have not been doing much in the way of exploring and adventuring. I'm saving that for this last leg of the trip. (My friend S is coming tonight to stay with me for a week.) My days are far from boring, but I've settled into a delicious routine. I get up early, I put in my workday on the lanai, I scoot down to the fav. beach and swim until sundown, then come home and work on music, read before bed, sleep like the dead. If I need groceries, I go to the farmer's market. Anything you could possibly want, the best and most beautiful food on the planet, cheap cheap cheap. Coffee roasted fresh off the plantation, sugar cane, every kind of tropical fruit ripe and ready to eat, local honey, homemade jams and banana-or-mango bread. Mac nuts by the barrel. Mmm!
The daily swim has turned me into a regular little fish. It really took me a while to ignore that 'isn't it time to go?' voice. Why go? Stay. I've already tried to describe this little bay many times. But I haven't yet told you about the shallows. When the surf is high, you can stay close to the beach in water that fluctuates with each wave between hip-deep and neck-deep. It's like an other-worldly jacuzzi. The incoming waves and the outgoing undertow knead and tug your body. Pounding jets of water break over your shoulders. Confused waves crash together sideways and spin you around, and the soft sand underfoot drops away and then returns. It's rough and gentle. The constant surge of water in all directions churns up a ticklish frothy lather and the water, my friends, is so warm. This jacuzzi, when the sun starts to set, takes on all the purples of the sky. The horizon is endless and broken only by humpback whales leaping and crashing into the water. A red burning eye between strands of clouds is the sun.
Underwater the whales sound like elephants and horses. I dive over and over and over to listen to them, to try to record their song in my brain. They chatter and squeak and creak and whinny, hoarsely moan and moo like ghostly cows. Water transmits sound so strangely. There is no sense of direction or distance - the sounds resonate in your head, not outside of you. It does not feel like hearing, it feels like telepathy. I've been trying to sing back to the whales but can't get past the shock of hearing my own voice underwater. A little gentle hum comes out like a shrieking eel. The pitch seems to jump up two octaves, and the vibration splits my face in two. I've realized that vocally, a whale is no slouch.
Back on dry land - very dry, very hot - I like to go beach combing. Or rather, lava rock combing. The coastline here is charred lumpy volcano discharge. (Heh heh - that sounds disgusting.) It's awesome to go hunting for sea treasures in this stuff. Shells and coral stand out so brightly against the black rock. And the little pools of water left from a high surf are warm like baby's bathwater. The other day I found a perfect little crab on a rocky perch. There was no way to tell if it was alive or dead... so I touched its back, oh so gently, and its entire skeleton disintegrated beneath my finger. This felt profound.
I found others just like it and managed to pick one up without destroying it. For some reason I had to put it on my face.
I meant no disrespect to the crab.
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