Coastal screed

The vision of an 'urban corridor stretching from Los Angeles to San Diego' will eventually destroy the coastal zone in Southern California and pollute the ocean so badly; nobody will be able to swim there anymore. Most of this coastline resides in Orange County ..and from what I've seen .. Orange County leaders are not good stewards of the land. When shortsighted urban planners ran out of room ..they wanted to extend a six-lane freeway over one of the few remaining coastal habitats in California ..the San Mateo creek near San Clemente. OC leaders immediately got in a fight with the coastal community; a vicious breed of environmentalists and surfers. It was a battle OC couldn't win. After fighting for 20 years ..20 fucking years .. they lost Thursday when the US Department of Commerce agreed with the coastal community and refused to approve it. First, I am amazed that the Federal government, under the Bush Administration, would go along with anything in the interest of California ..especially anything having to do with the environment. I applaud them. Second, I'm frightened by the bullheaded, right-wing conservative leaders in Orange County who fought so hard for the right to foul their environment. I was particularly concerned when I heard Tustin councilman Jerry Amante say that he doesn't feel it's in his interest to protect the coastline. The San Mateo creek is a natural watershed that, like other wetlands, cleanses runoff before entering the ocean. It flows into the ocean just above San Onofre ..one of the few places left where you can still camp on the beach. It flows directly into a legendary surf spot called Trestles ..a break that is actually formed from sediments deposited by the creek. Now, I'm not talking about protecting the birds or other wildlife ..I'm talking about protecting the people who live there ..but I guess that's not in the interest of Orange County.

North wind

An arctic wind blows through my door .. leaves and other debris scatter across the floor. Big wave season has begun. Although I don’t actually surf them ..they’re definitely major league ..I feel the anticipation. I sit on the beach and watch 25-foot swells pound the shore ..starting from Aleutian storms ..they move swiftly down the coast ..falling like dominoes on beaches from Mavericks to Todos Santos. I feel the energy crackling on my skin ..and the rhythm beating in my veins. I must have been a sea creature in a past life. I have a friend who's a big wave surfer. He tells me that he hears his rational brain screaming: “No Fucking Way” ..while feeling a rush, coming from some other part of his brain ..reminding him what an awesome experience it is to blow those apprehensions away. I think he’s a junkie ..caught in a cycle where icy adrenaline turns into fluid exhilaration.

Net interest

I admit I don’t follow pop culture ..I have no idea who P Diddy is. But I am fascinated by things that happen over the Internet .. and that’s usually how I find out what’s happening in pop culture. The Internet has the power to survive a devastating attack ..and keep sending messages; no celebrity can compete with that. Samantha Ronson tried to stop a story from appearing on the net ..only to see it amped, replicated ..and get more distorted with each re-telling. A car accident, that happened over a year ago, involving Lindsay Lohan ..turned into a tale of betrayal and intrigue with bloggers accusing Ronson of making money by setting up Lohan for the paparazzi. Ronson fought back by hiring a high-power attorney from the East Coast, who apparently had no idea what kind of power he was dealing with on the West Coast. They filed a defamation suit. The result wasn’t exactly what they expected ..a small-time blog got a big-time audience ..spawning even more salacious stories about Lohan and Ronson. Now she’s suing him for incompetence ..and he is counter-suing for unpaid fees ..saying he cannot work with “celebrity trash.” Next time I think he should try finding out what he’s up against .. because there’s no way to retract statements once they’re on the net ..information persists. However, I don’t think he should underestimate himself ..his lame attempts at litigation made him quite a successful provider of “celebrity trash.”

nowhere zone

A bell rings ~ I remind myself to sit straight ..take some deep breaths ..and be mindful. But my mind wanders ..flashing on images of people I’d like to see ..and asking them what they think about my latest harebrain idea. I gently bring myself back to the present ..and pay my respects to the pull of the ego. Now I hear children playing .. I feel a smile rise ..and remember something somebody once told me ..it’s better to live by a noisy schoolyard than a cemetery. Now I hear the swoosh of cars on Anapamu Street ..and I pay my respects to the sounds that pass by my little span of attention. I’m returning to the present moment without a clue where I was the moment before ~ now I’m answering a question that someone asked me yesterday ~ and I’m asking myself what that’s all about ~ now I hear myself shushing me ~ now I’m telling myself to quit shushing me.

Coastal zone

We used to call them swamps. Oil companies dumped sludge into them. Real estate developers excavated them ..and built pricey coastal communities like Marina Del Rey. Just north of there, surfers in Santa Monica began getting sick ..with symptoms ranging from skin rashes to heart attacks. I used to get ear infections. Investigators discovered high levels of toxins in the water ..both natural and man-made ..and began closing beaches for like months at a time. We don’t call them swamps any longer. They’re ‘estuaries’ ..and they serve a purpose .. filtering runoff before it goes into the ocean ..removing contaminants .. keeping the shoreline hospitable ..and the ocean sustainable (ask a fisherman). The Bolsa Chica wetlands is the only one remaining in Southern California that hasn’t been developed to the point where it’s lost all of that. A 40-year old feud between developers and environmentalists has kept it that way. Fanatical environmentalists. I’ll bet you there’s not one person surfing the river jetty who hasn’t gotten sick.

Wave action

The atmosphere looks blurry .. and the sky is a pale shade of blue. But the water has shape .. and slams me back to shore. The sky is fuchsia ..stars are shining ..and colorful dancers twirl by ..while others just float. I shake my head and they turn into a flock of birds. I lie there and let the white water wash over me ..remembering something that I heard one time ..telling me not to mistake the waves for water ..waves are the expression of a force passing through water .. appearing as a ferocious beast to anyone that hasn’t got sense enough to either plug-in or bail-out ..before it reaches shore. I drag my sorry-ass back to the sand ..and bow my head in hommage to the deities of the deep blue sea.

Hwy 101

I’ve always been fascinated by the shortcomings of judgment ..especially my own. One of my favorites is the way I read critical intentions into the innocent things other people say. The other day my dad tells me that he cannot conceive of the way I keep a journal ~ and it sounds to me like he’s saying that he doesn’t approve of the way I keep a journal ~ which makes me feel like it's a frivolous waste of time. I’m also pretty good at slowing down the learning process. This happens when I hear something new and immediately search memory for something that, on the surface, sounds familiar and allows me to say: “I already knew that.” For example, world trade ..? “that's been around since the days of Christopher Columbus” ..and I don't stop and consider the implications for today. Studies have shown that the ability to form new memories depends on the surprise-value of information. This tends to favor young people because the stuff they hear is still relatively new and surprising. However, once the novelty wears off ..receptivity diminishes and retention suffers. So, I figure the best way to keep a healthy memory is by trying to re-capture the days of my youth ~ see things fresh ~ and allow myself to be surprised more often. Oh no, wait ..that’s my rationalization for not acting like an adult more often.

Fire update

Helicopters routinely hover then pass. Still smells like someone had a campfire in my backyard. Mark and Amanda are home after spending the week in Santa Cruz ..she’s expecting and didn’t want to share the air she was inhaling around here. It’s all right now .. our homes were spared. It’s been a hectic week though .. I had roommates who were made homeless by the fire. They’re taken care of .. I’m surprised how quickly that went. They told me that insurance companies subscribe to the ‘broken window’ theory of economics (?) .. the faster they get a neighborhood restored .. the fewer claims they get for theft and vandalism later. I can already hear the sound of hammers pounding ..and a new cycle of teardown and regrowth begins (my way of putting it philosophically).

Tea fire

The sun is setting and you can find me where I usually am during a Santa Ana ..swimming in the ocean. I drive home with the top down through warm night air ..I notice that traffic is a little heavier than usual ..so I take an alternate route ..oblivious. I’m sitting at my laptop when the power goes off ..and switches me to battery. I save what I’m doing and shut down ..still oblivious. I look out the window and it’s pitch black ..too black. I smell what I think is smoke coming from my neighbor’s chimney. I grab a flashlight .. go upstairs and look out my bedroom window. Smoke has blotted out the moon ..and the surrounding hilltops are glowing red. I’m not oblivious anymore. It’s a fire. I run out and see Dr Jones. He tells me that Sycamore Canyon is burning ..and the fire is moving up the side fast. We’re in the canyon next door so, if it jumps the ridge ..we’re toast. From a canyon you don’t get a good perspective so we head over to the high school football stadium to get a bigger picture. I’m sickened by what I see. Smoke is pouring over the top of the range and, behind it, there’s a scarlet red glow stretching all the way from the mountains to the sea. Other people are arriving ..one couple already lost their home ..a camera crew sets up and we’re getting first hand reports. Sycamore canyon, Rattlesnake canyon and East Mountain are in flames ..less that a mile as the crow flies. I tell Dr Jones I’m not going to panic until I see flames burning on top of the ridge. I hear people going ‘ohhhh woooow' and I see flames shooting up from the top of the ridge ..trees combust ..and homes explode. Fire trickles down our side like lava. Someone hollers they’re evacuating anyone living around the bowl. Dr Jones and I head back. Now smoke is pouring out of the canyon where we live ..I feel another wave of panic. His wife is passing out wet towels. I wrap one around my face ..cinders fly ..helicopters circle ..a horse comes running out of nowhere and bolts onto Anapamu Street. Police block traffic and the owner corrals it. Bullhorns give evacuation orders. My eyes are burning and I’m throwing shit in my car. I move it out to Anapamu for a quick get away ..but police shout at me when I try to come back. I go around them by walking up the creek bed. I sit and water my roof until 2:00 am .. firefighters have battled the blaze to a halt just above us. I collapse to my knees in gratitude and pass out on a deck chair.

heineken green

The water changed dramatically overnight ..now it’s sub-zero freezing and beer-bottle green ..the color of a Heineken. Knocks the wind out of me. Eddie says arctic currents must’ve arrived and replaced the warm water that was here yesterday ..probably run-off from a melting iceberg. Lenny laughs and goes: “that means it ain’t no Heineken brahh ..it’s downstream beer.” Then Barb points at her watch and goes: “It’s November 7th guys ..you ought to be bringing wetsuits and fins with you ..that way it won’t matter what kinda’ beer.” We all agree she’s gotta good point. We go for a swim at sunset. The rays hit the water like stained glass ..adding scarlet and pink to a deeper shade of Heineken green ..the sky is a color that no one has a name for.

offshore condition

The water is much warmer and calmer than yesterday ..it’s also beer-bottle brown. Eddie says it’s like red tide only with a different kind of microorganism. He doesn’t remember which. I wonder if he ever really knew. I’m in the water way past sunset because I haven’t got sense enough to get out ~ and now the air's like way too cold. Barb swims by and asks me where my fins are ..again. I try to explain that I wear them only when, like uh .. “like never” she interjects .. and I go: “no, more like on wavier days” ~ but now that's like, beside the point. “You’re never gonna catch me without them” she says ~ and jets out of sight wearing some pretty serious diving fins ~ I hear her laughter fading as she goes. I do a few more backstrokes and head into shore ~ where I run into a dog that looks exactly like Andy, when Andy was just a couple months old, and I’m like: “Oh my god, Andy you shrunk.” I’m sitting there while he licks the salt off of my hands and face. When his human arrives, I tell him how much I love Airedales ~ and he tells me that’s not an Airedale ..it’s a Welsh Terrier ~ fully grown. I’m like: “Whooaah, no way ..!!” and he’s laughing and saying: “Yeah, he’s six years old” and I’m like, wow, looks like a miniature version of my own dog. I go on to tell him how smart I think they are ~ and he goes: “ mmm, not this one ..he’s dumber'n a mule ..we just got him from the pound.” Give him time ..I say, give him time (because I seriously believe Andy is one of the smartest species on the planet).

Niece Karla and Andy

A new day

There’s an offshore flow ~ I top-off my water bottle ~ grab a towel ~ forget my wetsuit ~ and shoot down Milpas ~ Hendrix blaring. I cut through a construction site ~ drive a mile down Hwy 101 (the reason I do this is another story) ~ get off on Olive Mill ~ and cruise the shoreline ~ it's crystal. I sit on the sand ~ take some deep breaths ~ and venture into the surf. My legs go numb ~ reminding me of the wetsuit I left behind. I dive into an oncoming wave ~ shoot out the other side ~ roll on my back and float ~ looking up at the sky through the elliptical scope of my eyes. My brain freezes. I see Robert in the distance and shout ~ asking him why he’s not skim boarding ~ he shouts back saying there were dolphins out here like ten minutes ago ~ he wanted to get a closer look. Once you’re in ~ you don’t want to get out. The sunset turns the sky bright orange ~ Robert tells me to turn around ~ behind me the sky is like ultra-violet. The water is smooth ~ flowing cohesion ~ I feel calm ~ a sense of renewal washes over me ~ I think back to yesterday ~ and the peaceful revolution we had ~ I salute everyone for a job well done.

Wheel inside a wheel

I’m still upset about my conversation with Jim yesterday. I need some reassurance, so ..I call my friend Marty; a financial planner in Laguna Beach. He sounds really shook. He tells me that he’s having panic attacks and trouble sleeping at night. Three years ago, about the height of the real estate market ..he was afraid the bubble was going to burst ..so he sold his ranch in Trabuco Canyon and moved to a small apartment in town. He put the money he made into the stock market. Now he’s watching his investments evaporate ..and says it feels like he stepped off a cliff ..and he’s still falling. I guess he didn’t see it coming ..but then ..who did. Worst part of it is, he says, his clients call him everyday going: “Marty, I can’t take it anymore ..cash me out.” I tell him to hang-in there ..ride it out (surfing term) ..it can only get better. He says he’s gotta’ go now and put dinner ..or his head ..in the oven. The poor guy feels worse than I do. I conclude that it doesn’t matter which party is in power ..the markets are like a cycle inside a cycle inside a cycle. Government has about as much chance of harnessing that as they do the weather.

Jim

Jim is furious with me. The closer it gets to election day, the more black and white our thinking becomes. He knows I’m independent ..but socially progressive. To him that’s socialism. Then, like a drop of ink in clear water ..everything turns color. Over the phone, he blames the democrats in congress for the financial mess we’re in. Nothing specific comes to mind so I ask him to explain. Annoyed, he shouts: “you know ..social programs like Fannie Mae”. Being from another generation, it seems like they’ve been around forever ..I Google them and find out they were created in the 1960’s ..and I’m thinking Johnson administration, great society and entitlement programs ..maybe he’s right ..but then, no ..that can’t be ..goes back too far. I go: “Jim, that was forty years ago ..property values have been going up ever since ..what happened ?” He goes: “We have a democratic congress again.” I still don’t see the connection ..so I figure it’s my turn to make up some shit: “Tell you what I think, Jim ..it’s the republican administration’s fault ..they made it easier for banks to make risky loans .. by allowing investment firms (like Lehman Bros.) to buy them and re-sell them in the stock market (I figure, kind of like Fannie Mae ..it let’s the banks off the hook). Silence. “Jim, I think there’s plenty of blame to go around ..” More silence. I’ve crossed the line into irredeemable territory. We end the conversation politely ..but he’s not too pleased with me. I think I need to get one of those books by Dale Carnegie.

Predatory behavior

Coming from Orange County ..where beach parking is a nightmare ..I’m always delighted when I can pull off the road anywhere I want ..for free. I walk down the steps to a beach ..located in Oprah County ..as though I’m a local. I’m walking by the water, minding my own business, pleasantly empty-headed ..when I walk into the middle of a frisbee toss. It lands in the water where a tall blond, wearing only a thong, goes: “I’m not playing anymore” ..and walks back to her towel. I wade in to fetch the frisbee ..thinking about the thousands I’ve lost the same way ..when her male partner gets right in my face going: “I know you ..didn’t you use to hang out at Rocks ?” (a bar on State street). I’m like, no ..you must be thinking of someone else ..and figure that’s it. He doesn’t budge . He proceeds to tell me the names of all the other bars he goes to ..and all the property he owns ..how much money he wins in Vegas ..how they comp his airfare, hotel rooms and hookers ..how he schmoozes the blackjack dealers ..and always leaves there several thousand dollars richer. Then asks me how I would like to join him sometime. I tell him about the time I lost forty grand in Tahoe and swore off gambling. He tells me Vegas is a different story ..and changes the subject. Meanwhile, he’s still in my face ..and standing so close that we bump into each other every time our weight shifts in the sand. I don’t mind ..he’s pleasant enough and has good hygiene, but ..I can’t figure out what all the self-promotion is about. Now he’s talking about his efforts to save the ocean ..and I ask him if he’s an attorney (a conversation killer) ..and he’s like, no ..just someone who knows the right moves ..like when he’s in Vegas ..and blah blah blah. Then he asks if I’d like to join him up on the beach right now ..and gestures toward a group of babes. I chuckle and say that I’d love to, but ..I gotta go. He tells me to stop by next time ..they’ll be there. I say OK ..and ask his name. Steve Harmon. I’m walking away wondering where I heard that name before. I take a swim ..and sit on the sand to watch the sunset. Then one of Steve’s girls comes over and says she’s sure she knows me from somewhere ..and I say I don’t think so, because I’d definitely remember her. She goes: “Don’t you live in Hope Ranch ?” No, I reply ..must be someone else you’re thinking of. Now I’m sure this isn’t just friendly conversation. I told Steve I’m not a local ..but wasn’t more specific .. and now I just ruled out the second wealthiest place around. I politely tell her that I have to go .. and walk up the steps .. go over to my car ..when, boom ..it hits me. I remember where I heard his name. He was a high-rolling venture capitalist in Silicon Valley ..who took a well-publicized beating during the dot-com bust of 2001. So, now I’m thinking ..the stock market isn’t looking so hot ..he probably wants to see if I’m someone who could help bankroll his next gambling expedition. Suspicious soul that I am.

indian summer

I run into Barb and Chris today, swimming back into shore ..while I'm swimming out to sea. They ask me where my fins are ..and I tell them in the trunk of my car ..I didn’t think the waves looked big enough. They tell me I’m not going to get very far without them. That’s OK, I tell myself ~ I’m content to just float around here out anyway ~ looking up at the sky and letting the swells roll by. On shore there’s a dude, in a beer-fueled frenzy, throwing rocks, the size of bowling balls, into a pattern that looks like the shape of a skull. Father down, the signs of yesterday’s dredging operation have disappeared. I’m not even sure where it was anymore. They were trying to free a sailboat that’d gotten washed up and buried in the sand. There was a great big trench about 40 feet in diameter, and 8 feet deep. The tide must’ve come in and sealed it over. I feel even more disoriented when that huge old seal-rock that I’m looking for is gone ~ until I realize it was never there ..it’s in Laguna Beach. I make note of this as just another instance of my mind playing tricks on me ~ transposing something from the past into my notion of what should be in the present.

indian summer

The offshore breeze is warm ..but the water is so cold it gives me brain-freeze. From the shore I can see a pod of dolphins ..if I were out there still; they’d be bumping into me. I can hear water shooting out of their blowholes whenever they come to the surface. Barb says they must be feeding ..I say I think they’re playing ..Chris says they’re probably playing and feeding ..what a diplomat. I ask them if they swam out to the shipping lanes again today. They laugh and tell me ‘whatever it takes to reach a sustained 'cardio-rate’. They’re a couple restauranteurs I know from town ..out here between the lunch and dinner crowd. I admire them. They’re both a little bit older, but hell of a lot better swimmers than me.

offshore condition

The offshore wind is so cold today, it cuts my flesh, lungs and nerves. The air is so thin it makes me feel heavy. I take a short hike ~ and my body rebels. I feel resistance in my legs and hear voices screaming. I shout back, telling them to get used to it and go with the flow. We pass the place where the condos are going to go ~ and I’m thinking about what I’m going to say at the planning commission next Tuesday. No Way! They’re totally out of character with the area. Furthermore, they’re on the way to the County Bowl. where I envision more cars ~ more quarrels ~ more walls ~ more cops. Now, don’t get me wrong ~ I’m not against change ~ or progress ~ or the wind for that matter ~ as long as it goes in the direction I want it to go. Otherwise, I rebel and blow off a head of steam. Sometimes it works ~ sometimes it doesn’t. When it doesn’t, I know it’s time to quit ~ I hear someone shouting back, telling me to get used to it and go with the flow.

I heard another metaphor today. My neighbor Don says that the recent plunge in the stock market reminds him of wiping out at the Wedge in Newport Beach “It’s like you’re three feet under water ~ you can see the sky and the sun ~ but you can’t seem to get there.”

another place to fall

indian summer

A flock of pelicans hover, then tuck their wings and dive-bomb for fish. I sit amazed and cheer, wondering if they use sonar, feature detectors ..or telepathy as I was once told. In any case they’re as close to prehistoric times as you can get. Robert takes a running start and skims across the surface on his board ~ he kicks-off a wave and goes into an aerial spin ~ landing in time to catch the wave back to shore. He does this between classes. In the distance, I see people paddling out on stand-up surfboards called Ku Hoe He'e Nalu ..meanwhile I’m riding shorebreak and getting friction burns from the sand ..Robert laughs. The sky is a brilliant shade of royal blue ..a quarter moon smiles through ~ palm trees pierce the view ~ then Ka-boom ~ another wave crashes ~ water rushes around my feet ~ Robert skims ~ and a new cycle begins.

indian summer

Today is the first day of summer in Santa Barbara. Autumn is when the offshore wind comes and blows the marine-layer away ..turning the beaches crystal clear! I roll back the ragtop, throw in some Churchills and careen through town ..everything is blurry. I round the bend from Olive Mill to Channel Drive ..and everything is clear. I’m so white I shine like porcelain. I pour on sunscreen, spf 1001, do some deep breathing exercises ..and hurl my body into the water. It's refreshing but not too cold. There are some decent swells, so I get past the impact zone ..and ride a few in. Sitting on the shore I feel like I'm like looking at a poster by Rick Griffin ..which is as of deep as I want to go on this fine day.[Link]

nothing

I practice meditation ~ some people tell me that I’m wasting my time ~ what good is sitting doing nothing ~ I’m no expert and I have no answers ~ in fact, sometimes I have my own doubts and stop practicing ~ writing it down is a way of explaining it to myself ~ if reading someone else’s explanation about doing nothing sounds like a waste of time ~ feel free to move on ~ who can blame you. Nothingness is a necessary state for something to happen ~ Buddha said something like this over 2,500 years ago ~ lately, practitioners in the field of neuroscience have been re-discovering the teachings of Buddha ~ I find this strangely reassuring. At the earliest stage of experiencing something ~ nothing is happening. Between each event arriving at the senses ~ the lenses are wiped clean ~ even a simple nerve cell has to return to a neutral state before it can receive and transmit a clear signal to the brain. Buddha taught that the mind and body are in a state of perpetual renewal ~ and that meditation is simply a period of doing nothing to interfere ~ just sitting and watching instances of thought and feeling appear and disappear ~ without judging or criticizing them as they go ~ I find that sitting still and doing nothing is just about the hardest thing in the world to do.

zen practice

Nobody takes turns talking in my head ~ everyone keeps shouting at the same time ~ it doesn’t matter though, no one is really listening ~ sometimes, during practice, I catch a riff ~ today it went like this:

Hey, I practiced a little longer today ~ Yeah, well .. if you keep practicing out here the neighbors are going to think we’re nuts ~ I don’t care, I like being outdoors, besides ..I stopped feeling like I was living in a fishbowl a long time ago ~ Oh yeah ..then what made you bring it up? ~ Just an observation ~ No it wasn’t ..you were obsessing ~ OK, I was observing myself obsessing ~ A lot of good that’ll do ~ Actually, non-judgmental observation is an excellent way to practice ~ Who told you that? ~ Jisho Perry ~ Sounds like an excellent way to practice rationalizations if you ask me ~ That’s because you don’t practice enough ~ Hey, there is no such thing as ‘too much’ or ‘too little’ ..it’s just practice, remember? ~ Where’d you get that idea? ~ Jisho Perry ~ Do you believe everything he tells you ?~ No ~ Yes you do ~ No I don't ~ and so it goes ~ No wonder I don’t do this more often.

Animal poo

For the past couple weeks I’ve been walking up a road that leads to a canyon behind me. A fine yellow powder covers the road and makes me wonder ~ I look up at the oak trees ~ but they are not like eucalyptus trees that leave pollen all over my deck. Oak trees don’t shed like that. I ran into Bob today, a retired dentist who lives across the way. I like to call him ‘Dr Jones’ the way they do in the Indiana Jones’ movies. Anyway, the oak trees belong to him and he tells me there’s an ‘oak caterpillar’ eating the leaves ~ he points out a couple of trees that I hadn’t noticed ~ they’re almost bare. It turns out that the yellow powder I’d been wondering about is the excrement from this leaf-eating activity ~ and I’m like euwwww. The nearest cross-street is called Anapamu ~ which I jokingly pronounce ‘animal poo’ to friends of mine from out of town. I guess I’m not joking anymore.

Slip stream

There’s a stream running through my head. I sit and watch it go by ~ one flashing instance after another. When I try to push it ~ or tweak it ~ I disperse it. Now I’ve got several streams running through my head. I see images of my father holding me on his knee ~ zen master Jisho walks by but can’t stay for tea ~ my neighbor Don appears telling me it’s going to be a good day. I see images of Big Sur smoldering and feel anxious about going. Now I’m trying to peak at instances that haven’t arrived yet. Jisho's voice gently tells me I’m leaning too far ~ but it’s too late ~ I’m tumbling head over heels ~ hoping to land in instances closer to home. Doctor Jones tells me to get a grip ~ I'm having an out-of-sequence experience ~ I see the warning signs ~ curva peligrosa ~ I swerve to avoid them and sirens wail ~ a police car roars by like a freight train. I drive along the shoulder until I come to an off-ramp and disappear down the side streets.