As it grows closer to the time when I should leave (the beach), I start to wonder more and more about the business of traveling; having passed through so many places, continents, without even the tourist’s postcard recollection. I lived in Paris off and on, but couldn’t name half a dozen restaurants I’d recommend. Good food is everywhere in France but while living and working there I seldom went adventuring beyond the neighborhood of St. Benoit. I ate out every night; when I found a good place, it became a habit. The same is true in San Francisco. I’ve always loved the sound and feel of neighbourhoods more than the aura of the city. I’d be the worst guide imaginable.

I often wonder why I went to far places at all. This is a safe place. By safety I mean sensible, responsible to itself. There is no wasted motion by the sea, every wave is working, taking out, bringing in.

The terrible mystery of living has laid its hand over my heart. I am a procrastinator and an evader; I hate pain, leaving it behind while rousing the memories of my beggar childhood. I expect to become a vicious madman without such memories. So, I tell you, there is a charm to fleeing places, friends, and reasons to stay.

It is just coming light as I walk onto the shore. I love the ocean but it doesn’t make me less afraid of it. I know on any given day the ocean will take a head to smash against the rocks just for fun. I look out across the friendly surf and remember the times the seas had me on my knees praying to any God that was close enough to hear me beg for my life, and yet, this morning, I stand here, wishing for the last twenty years back so I could simply do it all over again.

There are some things working this planet with unspeakable power and strength and beauty. On any day, it will tear at your heart and home, another fill you with wonder. There’s no reason to doubt why the earth is the most beautiful planet in the solar system, it is the only planet to have soaked into its core human tears.

The ocean holds my torment to herself. I walk alone, an individual sufferer among millions of other individual sufferers momentarily lost, bereft of direction, slapped by deaths reality. So, I flee, that all.

Bon Voyage xx

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