It is a few minutes past 6 PM and I just parked by Palisade Beach Park on Ocean Blvd. I am across the street from the Blue Plate — Oysterette (Thai Dishes), and a couple of blocks from The Georgian Hotel. It is Sunday evening. The sun is still shinning bright, warming the cool evening breezes. Balmy weather! After a recent dance workout I am thoroughly relaxed. I sit on my vehicle and just enjoy the scene. At the Blue Plate the valets are busy parking cars; the place is packed. The park is teeming with people. I am awake! My radio is playing but it doesn’t disrupt my meditation. I just listen while I watch everything . . . the joggers, the strollers, the cyclists, the couples (gay and straight) the homeless and mentally ill, the man balancing a water bottle on his head as he walks by with his backpack . . . The radio stops playing. I am here, with everything. And I see the collective dream; we are all dreaming together. We are being dreamed. It is all there, but it’s not.
Dusk sets in, and then the night lights appear. The magical evening is gone to never come back, and I remember a couple of lines from a poem by Emily Dickinson.
“That it will never come again
is what makes life so sweet . . .”
My next stop is Tucson, Arizona. I am looking forward to see the blooming Palo Verdes.