On Dallas Road

Dallas Road (the big house with the flat roof is Chez Ru)

"On Dallas Road"

What is it about the struggle of the sea,

The lust of a spirit longing to take shape
And dashing itself upon the rocks in its
Frustration, bursting into a thousand
Fragments of sun-dazzled spray,
That makes us laugh like children
As we dance out of its way
Then back again,
Daring it to touch our toes,
To try again to capture what we are
Water with substance
Spirit with flesh
Saying, “Catch me if you can”?

This morning I spent some time sunning on a log at the beach. The sun was still rising and the water was as tranquil as the Pacific ever gets. I lay on a big chunk of driftwood and listened to it gently washing ashore, sucking back pebbles on its retreat, and as the chatter began to fall out of my head, I was reminded of this poem.

I wrote it 20 years ago this July. That day, the water was livelier and Ter had ventured onto a concrete finger, whereupon the surf crashed near her toes and sprayed up into her face. She laughed like a little girl – I remember that very well – and when we got home, I dashed out a poem to try and capture the moment.

Today's walk was an attempt to be here now. No past, no future. Just the present, the gift that is now. At the end of a week where gratitude came solely in the form of “that could have been so much worse”, Ter put up the reminder on our refrigerator: “Just for today, be present in the moment.”

She then went to work. I dusted the furniture and ate my granola in front of the “big” computer, watching a couple of video links people had sent to me. One was just silly. The other led me to a Robbie Williams (I loooove Robbie Williams) tune called “Candy”, which has such an infectious hook that I looped it all the way to the beach and will likely buy the album ’cause it made me so happy. I had a brief moment of panic when I decided to lie down on the log where I was sitting (how was I going to get upright again?), but once I was down, the sun was so warm and the breeze was so sweet and the water was like music that I could have lain there indefinitely. But then the poem came back to me, so I hauled myself up and hiked back to compose this post.

Now I’m going to make gluten-free scones, then brew some Whiskey White and see if Jake wants to talk to me.

The past is past, so let it go. The future is yet to come, so don’t bother about it. Just be here now.

With love,