As I sit here in the quaint and windy town of Oceanside, OR in a little coffee shop with the great name "Brewin' in the Wind". My friend Tojo sits next to me jabbing at his iphone. The photo at right he took of me when we discovered the raging flood stage torrent known as Hug Falls on the beach of the same name (just south of Cannon Beach). The weather is stormy, perfect for brooding. The waves are crashing, churning up white sea foam like a bad cappuccino. Sky- blue sky valiantly appears sporadically in broad swathes just above a dense scroll of cloud on the horizon.
As i contemplate how to capture the scenery both around me and the storm within me, i recall an incredible poem
my Aunt Pam gave me this past summer as i was making last minute preparations to leave Seattle to road trip across the USA then backpack S. America and SE Asia. I meant to post it to my blog as a sort of prologue, but it slipped my mind until now, half a year later. It seems even more resonant even now as I reflect on my journeys and how they affected me (and continue to).
Goodbye Poem to Nick as he Embarks on World Travels
it can make you want to weep
a beautiful stretch of a cry
that is fixed deep down
but has the wings of a pale moth.
We often forget it's okay
to not know, not complete,
reverse, lean back.
The daisies on the back deck dip and
swirl creating new lines looking for
the sun, I think.
What is new in our ancient
footpath? I hear the submarine
sounds of stressed metal as the
garbage trucks make their rounds
this morning. It's a twisting symphony
of who we are.
It's comforting in a close way to follow
your own lines.
To sweat it out like a fever.
It's yours like the crystalline juice
from the slug's trail.
A shape only you can make.
--Pam O.
7/5/10
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