beach walk report #2

I found it. The meaning of the beach walk; I had forgotten it, but
as I sit here in the fog with visibility to 30 yards, the only thing I can see is what I came for: the message of the sea. Out here with only the birds and the bugs and the fog I don't know what I'll find when I get back to my car - if I do - and I don't care. The world
can blow itself up and people can continue to make themselves
miserable for money. The ocean will abide. The beach will still be
home to the birds, and for the brief time that I visit, it extends its hospitality to me, as well, and I am home.

I don't remember the world outside the fog, and I don't want to. In
here, nothing matters. The sea will not notice me, I am too small,
forever. Out there, I must be noticed to survive. I must make
myself bigger or be swallowed up. The world wants something from me
and won't tell me what it is. The ocean wants nothing from me, and
will swallow me up as he sees fit. It is not up to me. There is no
motion, no pursuit. The ocean wipes away all change. I can exist,
simply, and that is enough. The ocean laughs at me, and I smile back.

-- under the influence of salt air

Neptune shares with me his immortality and his indifference.

Hokum Spokum, No Need To Smokum

The first half of the beach walk was just a walk on the beach (with photography) - it turns out I *can* have just a walk on the beach, if I try hard enough. But on the way back, I decided it was time to start getting my money's worth (a tremendously spiritual way of looking at things). The fact that the fog left about 20 to 40 yards of visibilty should help, no more scenery or photography to distract me. Okay, time to start thinking in gibberish. Start interpreting things symbolically. Look, there near the end of the walk, four vultures. That's easy: at the end of my journey is death. But wait! I'm on my way back - the beginning of my return voyage. So death is at the beginning of my voyage, too. Hey, not bad, sounds deep. Oh, even better: we could say that at the end of the journey, the old me died, the one who takes pictures and eats and is materialistic, and from that death a new me is born to embark on a return voyage. Yeah! Means nothing but sounds mighty impressive!

At about the halfway point - though I had no way to know that at the time since my pace was irregular and my visibility was 0 - I sat down and wrote some stuff about Neptune and how the whole world could go cram itself up its own arse. That was good stuff, too.

Now I'm near the entrance (or exit), I think; the number of people I have seen today is fast approaching 15, at an accelerating pace, now.

Did I find what I came here to find? Like any spiritual journey worthy of the name, this one left me with more questions than answers. Truth be told, the supposed central question - whether to quit my job and move down here - was answered between the time I made the hotel reservations and the time of my departure. I've got some loose ends I'd like to tie up before moving on. It may take a short while to tie them up, or it may take a not-so-short-while. In the meantime, it ocurred to me this morning that sometimes, even though you don't particularly like where you happen to be, that is where you were meant to be at that particular moment. Jesus on the cross is a swell example.

Is this all too subtle and vague for you, dear reader? It just might be, depending on the reader. Then again, it might also be regardless of the reader. Nonetheless, if I spoke more plainly, I wouldn't be able to look back on this in the future and say "yes, that is what I meant," for any given event or thing that could be construed as a "loose end." Vagueness is thus the favorite tool of the mystic, politician, or professional bullshitter.