December 13th, 2012

Mt. Tamalpais


Yesterday because my power was going to be off for the entire day,  I rose early and headed out to West Marin.  Beautiful!

I saw a rainbow as I left Pt. Reyes Station, and when I parked overlooking Tomales Bay, I sat in the car watching the view through drops of rain.

I'm reading Mark Coleman's book, Awake in the Wild, Mindfulness in Nature as a Path to Self-Discovery, so the meditation I assigned myself was to watch the water and grasses in the bay.  The tide was coming in, but though motion was inperceptible, the marsh was filling with water.  It reminded me of when I was at my friend Karen's home in Muir Beach on Monday night and we sipped champagne as we watched the sun dip into the ocean.  The sun, or the earth rather, moves fast.

Anyway, when I got out of my car, I saw that the incoming water is squeezed in a part I couldn't see, and in that part, where it has to squeeze together, it is rushing like mad.  Ah, I thought, time is like that.  I can be spacious and open with it, as I was yesterday, where I had all the time in the world, or I can squeeze it into madness as I might see or feel at a mall at Christmas perhaps, although I hear the malls are not as busy as in the old days. People are shopping online.   

Cows ramble the hills in Pt. Reyes and I sat and watched a calf suckle.  It's quite a noisy affair, and lasts for awhile. Meanwhile mother ate some grass and moved slowly along and looked at me, and we bonded, mother, calf, and grass, full, nourished,  and content.  I'm sure the grass was enjoying its journey, from plucked to inside one of the four cow stomach's, then, regurgitated and chewed as cud, and then, back again, to emerge and nourish the grass.  

I went to the Pt.Reyes book store and bought Robert Hass's new book, What Light Can Do, Essays on Art, Imagination, and the Natural World.  It looks like a beauty if you want to add it to your gift list.  I was reminded of how impressed the librarians were at the MV Library when Bob helped put the chairs back after a reading.

I walked on Stinson Beach and went up the mountain.  It was cold, windy, and clear.  The Transamerica Pyramid in San Francisco looked close enough to touch.  I am always astonished that where I live is invisible from the spot where I stood on Mt. Tam.   It is as though my home doesn't exist, and all is rolling hills, bay, and ocean, and, of course the city, which looks like a toy.   

I watched some of the 12-12-12 benefit concert last night.  Mick Jagger is still amazing, and it was fun to see the energy and good will.

My neighborhood book group met Tuesday night and I sit with an array of gifts.  Actually, the meeting was enough in the way of gifts, the gathering of people, the sharing of food.  I continue to be astonished at this December light.  All is well in my world.  
point reyes shore

King Tides

Where I live it is important to pay attention to the high tides especially in December.  We moved here 35 years ago.  At that time, the full moon of December might mean some flooding at the entrance to the freeway, especially if it was also raining, but it's not raining today, and yet, once again, the entry and the exit to the freeway are closed, and Miller Avenue is closed due to flooding, and this is happening often these days, not just in December, and not just at the time of the full moon.

I think Hurricane Sandy awakened those who still question climate change.  What is odd to me is that Cal Trans has their storage lot right next to Manzanita parking lot which is underwater a great deal of the time these days.  What's not to notice?

I learn there is now a group documenting the high tides:

I get email notices on the tides, so am intrigued that we have the technology to immediately notify when the road is closed, but a current inability to solve and fix the problems that cause the flooding.  I don't live in the wilderness.  When traffic is flowing, I can be in the city of San Francisco in ten minutes.  Perhaps this is a deliberate wabi-sabi:   The walkway is swept.  It looks too perfect.  Shake the tree, and watch the leaves fall to create new ways to see and be.  

To Joy of Change!