Into the Woods

During my Sister Circle meeting with Sara, Natalye, Katie, and Jen I received a message from Christine and Sarah. It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to dip. They had just walked the dogs in Berkeley and said they wanted to go camping tonight.

Wow.

Okay, so here I am in the city creating a treasure map for 2006 filled with self-acceptance, success, and study...and in a few hours I would be traveling across the Richmond Bridge to Mount Tamalpais for an evening's sleep. Why not?

Christine and Sarah are among my river sisters. My closest river sisters.

I was delayed with filming for the Sister Circle and rushed to Alameda to shove my fuzzy full body jammies into a backpack, my purple plaid fleece, toothbrush/paste, and Dr. Hauska skin care pack and water.

Um, everything else I left up to chance. I had my hiking boots and I had a jacket. What else could I possibly need since they had sleeping bags and tents to go?

I was hesitant, but the idea of being on a mountain overlooking the ocean and bay and waking to the wind in the trees with a hint of brine from the Pacific was beyond tempting.

Yes, I had to say a resounding yes.

And so I drove to Christine's house.

I decompressed from my rushing as soon as I walked in the door. Christine was reading from her book to Sarah. They welcomed me with no reproach, but asked me how I was and if I needed anything.

I changed my proverbial diaper (read: tampon) and we gathered my things and we piled into Sarah's green jeep with Zen and Smudge in search of campground #`11. I wish I remembered the park name right about now.

We drove across the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge and I have to say that the Bay is just magical. Getting perspective and distance from the Bay Bridge to see is at as connecting span, versus a trafficky parking lot is lovely.

We careened along the 580 slope to Sir Francis Drake to 101 South and wove our way to Highway 1. Slowly. The night was absolutely clear. Orion was filled in, not just an outline of 3-starred belt and Sirius the dog, but filled in with flesh and stars. The canopy above was not muted by a deluge of light pollution. The blue canopy above was dotted with gorgeous stars.

Jesus, I felt human, so entirely human.

Christine trekked us up to our spots after we parked. Easy to find and overlooking a raveen. Blackbirds were in the trees mocking other birds and the breeze played with the branches of the pines overhead. The moon poked it's way out of some cloudcover.

Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.

The slope winded me and I know that I was feeling a little weak from not having eaten a proper supper, but my belly was filled with Pennie's Carribean goodness thanks to Doug, T, Michelle, and Joe. I'd be fine.

Christine and I set up the tent and then went to brush our teeth and wash our faces.
The cold water was particularly invigorating. I don't know if it particularly cleaned my face, but I felt alive as the cold splashes reached my cheeks. I felt baptized into this calm, Marin place.

I had a sleeping bag, my jammies, a hat and jacket. I snuggled against my fleece blanket and my poor feet had thin socks. During most of the evening I had a conversation with myself in my brain about finding a comfortable spot, why I wasn't warm, why I wasn't sleeping in such a beautiful space, wondering how my friends and family were, praying to the creator for good things, wondering about moving...

There were a few moments where I felt consciousness slip, but it wasn't comfortable. THe breeze was noisy in my ears. The cries of the blackbirds roused me into this realm. I really wanted sleep and was regretting my potential mood for the morning. I didn't have my vitamins or supplements. I was a grumble bunny.

A few moments slipped into snoring.

And then a ray of sunlight hit my eye. And I heard Christine stir.

Damn, morning time.

I slowly opened my eyes and witnessed some gorgeous golden light poking through the trunks. These hashmarks along the landscape were sergeants, allowing the light to come through.

Brr...but somehow my brain shut off enough that my eyelids aren't heavy and I smile softly because the morning is just magic. The carpet of the wood is woven of soft pine needles and spongy earth. Birds continue their singing and the morning sun seems to be dancing westward among the trees. In the half hour it takes for me to rise and dress for the morning it has moved and I have caught whiff of a group of backpacker's breakfast...bacon. Oh, the lovely scent of bacon in the morning!

We convene and Sarah offers to read a poem for us...Blue. It is an assignment she and a friend challenged themselves to.

Blue is awash with imagery of the ocean and sky and eyes and emotion. I'm on a rollercoaster of melancholy and irony and nostalgia. Blue reminds me of a poem that I will come to write soon, I am certain.

Tents come down easily. The car is packed easily and in the midst it is decided we will wander along Stinson Beach.

Before we walk Sarah offers breakfast of sprouted rye bread, almond butter, and apples. All fill my tummy wonderfully. The rye bread is soft and pliable and filling. The almond butter is rich and adds to the bread's heartiness. This meal should keep me walking a little bit.

Stinson Beach is a glorious spread of land stretching up and down along the Northern California coastline. Young families, dogs, and some kites are there this morning. We walk and talk and share silence and observe houses on stilts and houses with wave walls. We marvel at a bird of prey gliding, hovering in the air, the curl of its wings perfect to detect any change of wind. It keeps itself aloft so intuitively I wonder what Disney magic keeps it there.

Why do I liken miracles of nature to Disney experiences? That seems so sad...

We wander and admittedly my tummy begins to beckon her nourishment. I begin to fantasize about lunch.

Sarah asks if we want to continue wandering or check out the next spot and both Christine and I are open...meaning we relinquish the decision to Sarah. Both Zen and Smudge have been playing along the surf and with other dogs for the length of the beach. We all pause a moment and decide to explore the next beach.

I have picked up 3 bits of ocean glass, worn translucent by the beating of sand against its surface, but not broken by the force of the ocean. I also pick up an oblong rock that has a hole worn through it. It is a pendant, a keepsake of this moment together among friends.

I have walked along this beach with Emma and we have talked about life and it has felt as familiar and wonderful and open and nonjudgemental.

I love this beach for that.

We walk back to the car. And we wander south along Highway 1 to a lookout point that has a path to a large boulder that is a perch overlooking the ocean. Sarah is called by it and we wander along the switchback of the path. The boulder is green with moss and wet with Pacific kisses and overlooks the panorama of the beach and the coast and is amazing. I am clumsy climbing up to it, but with Sarah's outstretched hand I clear the rock face and am surrounded by this amazing beauty and bathed in sunlight.

We climb down and around and toward the surf. The clay is loose and red and we slide along a narrow ridge to the beach and surf. I am drawn to the boulders at the water's edge encrusted with barnacles and black crabs that seem fearful of me. I must look huge and atrocious with bluejean legs and a purple and white plaid chest and head topped with yarn. What kind of creature do I look like to them?

I stand and stare in a space just behind the boulders staring at the sideways crawling and climbing of the crabs and time the moments between the crescendo of waves that splash over the boulders bringing Mother Ocean to my feet. I feel like a conductor. I feel like an explorer. I feel the sun on my face and feel like I am playing hooky from my responsibilities at home. And I AM playing hooky from my responsibilities at home.

We reconvene in a little cove of rocks, sit in the sun, listen to stories and make a plan for lunch.

It is good.

The journey uphill is always a challenge for me. My legs feel weak and I feel winded. The climb doesn't appear so rough, but I feel my weakness and it makes me feel bad. I am soon reminded when I stop to feel the pulse along my carotid artery that everyone gets winded. My river sister Christine gently reminds me of this.

God, I love being a space of nonjudgement.

We arrive at the summit, having looked back at ocean and thank her for her hospitality and drive south along Highway 1 to meet up with Highway 101 North, toward San Rafael. We look for lunch and find it at Il Fornaio. The Pittburgh-Denver game is on, It is the 3rd quarter and Pittsburgh is creaming the Colts...24-3. I was excited! I want a Panthers-Steelers Superbowl.

We are given amazing service, bread and breakfast. We chat and just savor the moment, the food...mmmm.

This is the sublimeness of spontaneous trips with friends. Full circle...24 hours from San Francisco making treasure maps to camping among the guardian trees above the ocean to suburban brunching.

And now the sun sets and I am off to do some room cleaning before enjoying Walk The Line at the Parkway this evening.