My hands are like ice.
I’ve been beside the ocean this evening, walking along the cliff. I can hardly write this note.
I want to live a long time.
I want this ocean calm with so many shades of blue to be mine — from a pale reflection of sky to the deepest sapphire — an unending rippled spectrum.
This evening, the divine sea dogs were at play, lapping up the waves.
I read a quote carved into a bench that said, “Yesterday was a holiday, as is today. Every day I live by the ocean.” Simple, mundane, but true.
I want to explore the whole word, but live in a lovely place like this.
It is good to have wants for oneself. Even, and perhaps especially, if those wants encompass the whole world.
I saw a man carrying a large yellow flag emblazoned with the words, “Vietnam Veteran.” It made me think of my parachute-like skirt flapping now in the wind, and that we all let our flags fly — some high, some low, some brazenly, some bold, some whether we like it or not.
I thought about throwing my car key into the surf.
(The trouble we like to make for ourselves.)
I thought about jumping in the water and smashing onto the rocks.
(Oh, the trouble we like to make for ourselves.)
Sometimes I want to cast my collective consciousness off, or perhaps my particular consciousness.
Whichever one tells me my outfit matches the colors around me as the sun sets against the sea.
Santa Cruz, Calif. 2.15.12
