‘stand‘
if I can lie to the moon
I can lie to you
if I can whisper to the moon
I will send my envoys into that room
a gathering of your friends
there was never any covenant of truth
so let’s stop the pretense of pretend
is this convenience
a road stop
or
the end?
Some more photos of the beach, the main one mostly, they have a huge fire pit, I do not know the laws in your part of the earth but here in Jersey? They might call out swat if you start a fire on the beach (you are not even allowed on the beaches at night)… in rural Maryland ? You can sit by a huge bonfire serenaded by the waves and bay breeze (while having a bay breeze)… and that my friends makes it worth every penny… and see all the people ? Um… so yeah, this is why I love the place so I can unpack my thoughts… or not think at all.
I am a river
without a sea
without a delta
on which to embark
so I am a route, incomplete
I tried to capture the vibe of the place (including fauna) This is a northeast US beach towered over by 200 foot cliffs (to the west) which makes it rather unique (although the beach itself is not very deep due to this fact). The ‘beach’ by the house I rent is gone completely now). This private community was founded by scientists back in the 1940s interested in the local American chestnut tree population and vast amount of Miocene era fossil deposits (including Megalodon – fossils which are easily found washed up on the beach – you can see them trapped in the rocks/clay in a couple of the photos). This is more of a housing community than a town… and is surrounded by thousands of acres of nature trails (American Chestnut Land Trust) which the community itself has chipped in and bought up over the years (next time I will get more photos and video of that – they are awesome.) Great hidden gem in rural Maryland (and some great local restaurants only 15 minutes away). If you have any questions drop a comment in. I am glad to share the information about this area to anyone.
sometimes just the sun on your skin makes all the difference, cresting over the span, the murky skyline pans left to right, not sure if this is smog, or clouds, or both, driving through what was once a mountain, cleared with the efficient explosive delight of dynamite, just so traffic could have a smoother flight, from the meadowlands low up through the once high, at least compared to the low wetlands below and surround, the miles of refineries and oil storage tanks, quite a strange stretch I suppose, for those unfamiliar, for me my daily hike up the turnpike, an ancient name, are we so far removed from that though? a literal striped stick lowered across the road until a toll is paid, we still have essentially the same thing these days, makes you wonder how little it takes to corral us in, surely those sticks are not packing enough umph to stop a truck or a even a determined hybrid at that, but we do not, we allow ourselves to be hemmed in, civility, the norms, the expected, the daily drive stretches into months, even years, then there is something, sometimes, just a little sun on your skin. on the right day, in the right angle, in the right way, a gentle warming to lift you above the low level fray, a reminder of days past, summer and spring, freedom under the reign of the sun, long days, staying out past eight just to play until called to dinner by mom’s bell clarion call (hey, this was before cell phones), all these memories locked in skin, the simplest of things, the sun on my skin, instant recognition of memories unlocked within…
the road to purity (that is the term that popped into my head and inspired this post), or the better version (or best) of one’s self, is this just a path to destruction or salvation, or is it a matter of perspective, I spent the whole of the week walking along a beach, cradled in a spider web hammock of self introspection, I mean what else do you do on the beach, oh yeah, normal people, swimming, tanning, a touch of volleyball perhaps (I was a bit more into kadima ball and kites I must confess, back in the day), not me, well, not anymore, somehow the shore has become my temple, my church, my place to unpack the world and move in with just me for a time, an extended sunday morning as sunday is the traditional day of rest so I’m told, the sound of the surf becomes a lullaby for an overactive mind, a drug administered by mother nature in kind, just as intoxicating as any chemical otherwise known by mankind, I am truly moved to a different plane of existence, everything just sheds, or is washed away, glaciers sheer off so easily, alone with my thoughts, conversations I should have had long ago, or did and forgot them, or they have been obscured in the so called real world, no shiny distractions here, no plethora of channels of niche information to browse, the reality of life, the cycle, birds, fish, insects and plants – your breath, all engaged in being what they are or what they were born to be, so odd, us humans, we have the right to decide what version of ourselves in which we reside, and I guess I know, at moments like this, I am not living up to my end of the bargain, the bargain of life that I have been gifted in this limited, there is only so many things you can do with this realization, be better, get better or just accept that perhaps you are not quite the lion on the golden hill you might have thought or were told, but am I shorting the world…? and myself, for not going all out, and where down the road does that mate with actuality indeed, as I walk here among all the broken shells, some seem familiar, a pattern of at once perfect forms of life laid now in tatters, all these thoughts flood my matter, no one will ever know, except this inner-verse that I am conversing with now, I suppose it is this way with everyone, even those we think have the perfect life, from the outside, who knows who they really are unless you walk in their skin for awhile, along a beach, see what washes up, hearing their thoughts, wearing their feet.
I wonder how many others have wandered here, how many other feet, how many years, generations, for I surely have
I was here
I have taken things from this beach, and perhaps this beach has taken things from me, time at least,
such little impact yet I feel
I feel some sense of ownership, pride I guess, ego
the wind churns, and the tide turns
the waves crash, the gulls hang there, standing in mid air
and I all I want
is to belong.
driving up from the beach that final time, at least this year, I feel the need to stop, say thanks and goodbye to this little stretch of sand that has been my companion, why? I just do, maybe I am preparing my mind for the drive home and all that comes with coming back to the world of real, I pass some deer in one of the longer driveways, staring at me curiously, surely they have seen cars before, I mean, I am on a road and they are on a driveway, but deer logic might be different than mine, or maybe they know I am a stranger and can recognize out of state plates as mine surely are, my headlights play games, and look like little flames playing off mailbox reflective markers, the hour is late, not quite dark yet, I should have worn my glasses, but I know this road well, no way this road would be 35 in new jersey, no way man, sweeping sliding turns up through the cliffs with no street lights save for one past where I am going anyway, how I might take such things for granted, you usually don’t see the actual top line of your lights, the exact height, here, always, and your mind screams ‘turn on your brights stupid!’ and of course look out for deer, I do both as the curves and blindspots require, my finger on the hair trigger to turn them off should another car come this way head on, no one does, this night at least, I turn into the last turn at my gate, pitch black aside from a few lights inside one or two houses, the occasional big screen seen, but everything else is dead quiet and sleeping, I treat my car like I am sneaking home on toes after a night out in my teens as to not awaken my folks, I pull in the drive way to park, tomorrow I depart, for home.
vacation… as a creature of habit I do tend to frequent the same places year to year, I like the familiarity, it allows me to truly unplug and drain the old overactive brain from the strain of work and the everyday, this is what I am doing this week, vacate, quite literally, I could feel all the negative stress flow out of me as soon as I arrived and got settled in, my mind is clear, empty, sure, I keep tugs on the tethers of the other life I put on a shelf for a week, almost impossible to totally disconnect, but now this is like a second home, a refuge, I know the town as well as my own @ home, I know the roads, the lands, the turns, the tides, there is comfort in that, and how just super nice people are here, almost surreal, they all wave hello regardless of what is going on, it takes some getting used to but becomes second thumb after not too long, a day or so, I spend the days walking the beach for hours upon hours, there are more birds than people, my crocs in hand I just walk for as long as the encroaching tide allows, kind of like Red @ the end of Shawshank, except I am not looking to find anyone, and I am not a felon, so, besides that it feels the same, I think of the quote Red (Morgan Freeman) says about prison, about the walls being ‘funny’, and I wonder if that applies to my back there life, the walls are there to keep you in but after a while you depend on them, have I constructed my own prison? for comfort, regardless of it is the best I can do for myself or not? and does this show that sometimes you need a place, fictional or otherwise, to step outside yourself and take a look at your life from some other perspective… in a way I think we all know what we are doing wrong or could improve, but sometimes being able to stop the ride and get off provides a clarity like no other, and I am in that space now… wed night, already? I can feel the creeping twinge of anxiety approaching knowing I am halfway through my time here, like all my good porch time I will try to bottle this up somewhere in the corner of my mind , remember the lapping waves of the bay on my feet, all day the subtle roar, walking along the shore, the sweet soreness in my legs from walking in sinking wet sand all day, the occasional encounter with people and their dogs, the little DYI beach houses with kayaks stacked from summers gone, other ones crook and bent from years of storms, neglect and surf, the majestic grey heron that won’t let me get within twenty yards – every year, I wonder what sort of talisman I can create and capture all this charm, to summon when needed later on.
Notes… I am currently in Scientist Cliffs, MD… I come here every year, it is an unique place if you read up on it. I can not say I am roughing it, there is cable internet (upload speed is iffy so I can’t post as much as I really want to photo/video wise)… and a mere fifteen minute drive into town has tons of dining options, and of course the seafood is to die for… crabs crabs crabs… and oysters, if it was possible to OD on oysters I would be quite dead. This is a Covid desert pretty much (compared to New Jersey) but still not totally open, and honestly I am not ready for that either (doing all take out, thankfully all my fave places have been scraping by and are still here… so I tip them well as I have done fine in this covid time money wise). This is a great place for kids also, if you want any info just shoot me a line, I am glad to share.
tonight the temp is just right
cold enough to be colder than
I can just smell
the sweet leaves that fell wet
so many more to go
but this line between
seasons in change
I lament the summer
but feel ready for fall
prepared by all the signals
my mind is made ready
standing-waiting in a train station stop
waiting to board the transition on
notes… just walked outside, my windows are open but I am not getting inside this lovely wave of fall air, refreshment indeed in some sense, not reprieve from a scorching day, more like comfort in a perfect blanket zone, comfortable, soothing, but yet hints of fall, the slightly sweet smell of rotting leaves, dying leaves, the intoxicating sweet smell of decay, hinted, and the cricket choir is still living, and loud, but not as much or so much, some what subdued, like the temperature, a bull tamed, a wild horse tamed but yet will fade away into the cold, but right now that feels OK, no, it feels fantastic, relief… sweet belief. oh yeah, and this was something I just wrote in my head when I stepped outside, so, that is what it is, kind of haiku feel…
Shades of My Garden 