Monday, July 20, 2009

My Pacific

During this past week, I thought about my connection with water. I mean I am a Cancer after all. And so many Cancers I know have a great love of water -- not necessarily being on it but being by it. It makes me wonder about this whole astrology thing.

Me? I love being by water. I love being on it. I remember being on Lake Berryessa at age nine or so and riding on the front (Shoot me for not knowing the technical term.) of a boat. Riding on a catamaran on Mission Bay in San Diego. Or speeding across Chesapeake Bay, many years later, in the front of a Chaparral. On the latter, I felt every bump to the point that I thought that I just had to have visible bruises over most of my body. I see a large body of water and a calm comes over me. Suddenly all the stuff that has been jumbling around in my head, falls into place and makes sense. The bigger the body of water, the greater the clarity.

And then I started thinking about where I have lived over my life. With the exception of that year in Bend (not my choice), I have always lived near water. Specifically I have always lived in close proximity to an ocean. I cannot imagine living otherwise.

As I drove on Sunday, I started thinking about my relationship with the Pacific. The most time I have spent on beaches has been in San Diego and Mexico. But that is not my Pacific -- the one that I got to know during my childhood.

My Pacific is often shrouded in fog that hides the possible dangers. While the cove may look inviting, any native of northern California has a number of things running through his/her mind.

"If I go into the water, how long before the hypothermia sets in?"

"Is there a riptide? Why ask this ridiculous question? Of course, there's a riptide."

"Where is the tide right now? I know there are probably rocks. But are there ones that I can't see right now?"

"If I go out far enough, is there something prehistoric lurking beneath the surface that will try to make me a permanent part of the ocean?"

We think all of these things but we are drawn back by the hypnotic sound of the waves crashing.

The Pacific of places like San Diego? It is warm and inviting. My Pacific is a bit darker, menacing. It dares us to confront it. To reconcile it all.

And maybe it's for this reason that I find peace while looking at my Pacific. Especially after a week in which I have been called all kinds of horrid things by people who claim to love me.


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