Santa Cruz, Calif. 2.15.12

My hands are like ice. I’ve been beside the ocean this evening, walking along the cliff. I can hardly write this note.

I want to live a long time.

I want this ocean calm with so many shades of blue to be mine—from a pale reflection of sky to the deepest murky sapphire—an unending rippled spectrum.

The divine sea dogs were at play in the water this evening, lapping up the waves. I read a quote carved into a bench that said, “Yesterday was a holiday, as is today. Everyday I live by the ocean.” Simple, mundane, but true.

I want to explore the whole world, but live in a lovely place like this.

It is good to have wants for oneself. Even, and perhaps especially, if those wants encompass the whole world.

I saw a man carrying a large yellow flag emblazoned with the words, “Vietnam Veteran.” It made me think of my parachute-ish skirt flapping now in the wind, and that we all let our flags fly—some high, some low, some brazenly, some bold, some whether we like it or not.

I thought about throwing my car key into the surf. The trouble we like to make for ourselves.

I thought about jumping in the water and smashing onto the rocks.

The trouble we like to make for ourselves.

Sometimes I want to cast my collective consciousness off, or perhaps my particular consciousness.

Whichever one observes my outfit matches the colors around me as the sun sets against the sea.


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