for lesley 

huntington garden's japanese gardens

huntington garden’s japanese gardens

From a poem by Gabriela Mistral entitled Song,

“night grows maternal before this song that goes to meet it; the stars, with a sweetness that is human, are beginning to come out; the sky full of stars becomes human and understands the sorrows of this world.”

On new years eve in San Clemente, Diane had gone to bed and I felt a pulling to the ocean. I slipped out of the room alone, walked a hundred paces (our room was very close to the shore), and met with the pounding surf. It was nearly time for celebrations and I stood there feeling honored, humble and at one. People heading out on the pier caught my eye and I decided to walk to its end and spend my new years with a strange gathering at the end of the pier.

The moon had already struck me, as it was surrounded by a wide circle of yellow light. The near full moon surrounded and circled. So special. Waves pounding constantly, I walked past the shoreline to the end of the pier. A few conglomerates of people at the end of the pier. I settled into the corner past some asian families.

The waters and sky were dark. At first I could see nothing, only hear the waters churning beneath. The ocean brings out this feeling in me, that I am very small and young, that I am fragile and know very little. Looking back at the moon, she is still circled and huge. The moon is huge and present. We intuit each other.

I had heard earlier that whatever one is doing as the new year comes in acts as a signature for the year. I remembered this and became aware that I was relatively alone, practically in the dark ocean staring with the moon. Ah, I felt as I looked into the deep, and imagined over the dark expanse a flaming tongue coursing over the waters spelling, CREATE.

The waters were more discernible now as midnight came and my human relations on the peer celebrated, popped bottles, kissed and hugged and cajoled one another into greater union. Fireworks erupted on the main land. The moon remained and I stood there, leaning against the rail, contented and full with the message I’d gleaned over the waters.

The smell of firework smoke wafts out across the waters. The sound of churning hits the dock. A couple Cheers one another. People walk the planks and return to shore. The ocean breeze on my face. A glowing moon and burning letters upon the dark. An inner spark.

Walking back, the moonlight cascaded upon the waters, so beautiful. Twinkling and shimmering, so bright. An emphasis on the moon, gazing over dark waters, we create and are created anew.

i wrote the above to lesley earlier as i sat amid the zen garden at the huntington library. i have been beset with a cold/flu to slow me down and i shot a few full nostrils into the surrounding plants. a museum attendant brought me some papers to snot into (although i do prefer snotting forthright on the land). and more remembrance came forth in this time of new moon building, fed by some lines by Gabriela Mistral…

“What the soul does for the body, the poet does for her people.”

i had nearly forgotten my dream seed almost 4 years back at The Mountain in North Carolina. my first community experience, my first taste of the delicate unfolding with support. my dream seed then: Dedicate a year to art, a year to creating, learning art and music making. I had spaced this until now… not consciously a-voiding it, yet given it space, even unintentionally, nonchalantly. and Now it is coming back around. this, the new moon’s intent, perhaps the underlying intent of the year…

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