This trio of tall, sturdy trees watches over the Tennessee Valley trail in Mill Valley. They are striking, intertwined, connected, commanding, imposing, confident. Cypress trees, perhaps. I love their gnarled, grooved bark. I walked on this trail last week after visiting my ailing friend who lives nearby. The Bay Area is so amazing for its corners of wildness next door to glass skyscrapers.
So in yesterday’s post I alluded to a moment I had. I’ll do my best here to describe it. I’ve been thinking about metaphors for worries and pains and losses. Bricks on my chest? Wasps circling around my brain trying to build a nest? Howling monkeys swinging from neuron to neuron? Anyways, I felt like my anxieties and griefs were so painful and weighty I needed to do something. It was like I was wearing cement shoes. I’m a big believer in rituals, so I wrote down all the concerns I wanted to let go of. Economic collapse, serious family illnesses, friends with cancer, depression, a list of losses, horrifying politicians, pandemic panic, isolation, loneliness, mental illness (it doesn’t run in my family, it gallops).
I listed the items I wanted to release, drew a circle around each one, cut them out, and did a burning ritual (I couldn’t find my sage, though; better get more). Ceremonies I do like this usually help some, but this one really felt significant. When the wind blew the ashes away as I sat on my deck in the foggy breezes, I felt less burdened. Also a kind of acceptance of being where I am in the world today — an aging woman and painter living on my sweet little houseboat. I’m here. I’m good. And many thanks to dear Sue for the suggestion.
But I have to add yesterday’s story to this post as it can’t wait. Sorry for the lengthiness of my blog today.
Again after visiting Uncle Fuzzy I headed to Ft Cronkhite to walk on Rodeo Beach — the air is less smoky, the surfers are fun to watch, the waves are always cleansing and soothing and maybe I’d find another heart-shaped rock. Yesterday there were dolphins too!
And a dead body. It had washed up on the beach and as I arrived park rangers and firefighters were there setting up yellow tape around him. Life at once felt so precious and so disposable. He was fully clothed and appeared to be a young, slender African American man. Who was very much dead.
That was a first. I watched the officials with curiosity, took my walk, then left as they were waiting for the medical examiner. I was upset, and it was a jolt, but not until last night did I break down and cry. Who was he? Was he loved? Did he suffer at death? Lots of tears, but they were cleansing.
How’s that for a helluva week so far?
7″ x 10″ watercolor, pen on paper = $90