So Sexy the Sand...

—02.07.2000—

In last night’s hazy frame I dreamt I was flying back to the UK. Coming in across the Irish coast I raised a window shade while waiting in the corridor for the bathroom. Our 747 was flying about 6 feet off the ground. This concerned me a bit, but no one else in the cabin seemed to notice. Besides, the bathroom became free so I lowered the shade and went in. On this flight the facilities appeared to be a bit of an after thought, consisting simply of a hole in the floor surrounded by a plastic shower curtain where a passenger seat had been removed. The name of the airline escapes me. Flying towards London we hadn’t gained much altitude. We were above highway traffic but flying under power lines. And so it was for quite a long time before we touched down safely at Heathrow.

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A note to kids: notice the things you do and where you spend your time, delight in them and they will guide you. Feed yourself books and ideas, devour your favorites as if they were fast food. Experiment, create, find a space, learn to see, and ask questions. Build the world you want to inhabit.

A note to parents: Please nurture your children as they begin to build their worlds out of the rounded, blunt blocks of childhood. It is through these coarse foundations that the their life spring will flow, carving intricacies, delight, and delicate details as it grows in power, further and further downstream. Carve these blocks yourself, or scatter them far and wide, and risk sallow soil, slow deaths, and limping landscapes.

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As I walked from Gugh back across the sandbar today, it took the shape of a woman. I stopped, intrigued, and watched as the sea began to cover her. It was the sauciest thing I’d seen in a long time. In hundreds, the waves slid across her sandy crests, each a smooth, thin gesture which she absorbed immediately. A few minutes later they engulfed her, wrapping themselves around her with a lulling conviction, then again receded. Some of the wet lingered around her middle, where I stood, gradually connecting, gradually carving a channel deeper into her side with every sideways rush.

Again and again the waves washed over her broad, glistening hips, and soon she was overcome. No longer able to absorb the shining sheets and wide caresses, she laid herself back for the oncoming sea. How slowly it went. How long she resisted. How persistent the two coves were to embrace her from either side. I remained, even as the water surged up the sides of my boots and trickled down into my socks. Here, watching the sea reach out, and standing in its rush, I found some happiness.

Prior to that I had been visiting Patricia. She had briefed me on the operating instructions for Gugh, how to care both for the four semi-feral cats, and for her fern, named Ian.

I have to say I’m looking forward to spending some time over there. The dining room looks like it was wrested from a ship. The study is overflowing with stacks of paperbacks that reach the ceiling. I just hope that I don’t wreak havoc on the place, blowing away the bunnies and flooding the coastlines, while I’m versing myself on the tide and weather machines.