Henry looks like he is having fun, but the truth is his paws are so cut and sore and raw that he and I did not go back to the beach for a last walk this morning.
(I tweaked my lower back going a bit too deep into an upward facing dog Tuesday night so we are both feeling old and broken, alas).
Aquinnah is even more beautiful than I remembered. If you ever want to test the theory that there really is no such thing as time-- head to the beach. Hours slip off the edge of the bed. Mornings are whole seasons unto themselves. Days feel like a month of weekends.
To drop into a full experience of 'beingness' both thoughts and feelings must be left behind. Hmmm, is that true? Not sure-- I'd have to analyze that statement which would require me to engage my brain which has been shoved to the back of the bottom refrigerator drawer to get soft with a bunch of kale, cabbage and mesclun greens.
Instead, I am being with the beach --where waves are both crashing and extending steady calm.
Eleven days since I was last in here -- enjoying the contrast from then (working overtime) to now (exploring what it feels like to live inside of a marshmellow) --- but mixed in between those two extremes is the ongoing conversation between the two halves of my brain:
And you thought schizophrenia was just for kids . .
THIS is why there are dogs in the world -- for people like me who need to be get down to what is real: rolling in the grass, running on the beach, treats and belly rubs.
Oh, and did I mention that I'm dating*? EEeeeeeeep. I know, right?-- because that's not going to have any wild roller coaster effects on my thoughts or emotions-- of course not.
*um, cause no getting around that one if I'm gonna get honest with you now, is there?