Thursday, February 16, 2012

the ugly and then

Yesterday was one of those rough, rough days. I saw something online in the morning that hurt me deeply. I was morose over it and weepy, feeling sorry for myself. I knew I had to get out of the house.

I drove to Coronado beach, my favorite beach in San Diego. The day had turned cloudy and cool, darkening skies ahead of the storm that hit later on. When I got out of my truck the wind was fierce, stinging me with driven rain. No matter. I had come to walk on the beach and I soldiered on. I was pretty much alone on the beach except for the birds, seagulls riding the currents and these little sandpipers chasing the waves back and forth. As I walked I remembered all the times in my life I had gone to the beach. As a teenager I had spent many solitary evenings on that beach. I've walked up the beach countless time with Cecil, having discussions about everything under the sun. I've walked the beach alone more than anything.

As I was walking the winds blew the clouds open and the sun came through. With the darkness of the clouds over the water and the way the sun reflected the light, the water shone a brilliant turquoise. It reminded me of my baptismal sea, the Caribbean. I walked over to my favorite rocks and sat for an hour or more, letting my mind wander, challenging myself to accept certain things I'd rather not accept. Then out of nowhere, my storm-stilled mind popped out a solution to something that has been bothering me in my novel. I had a journal in my pocket and wrote it down, grateful for the emotional turbulence of the day that had led me to be there.

Last night was also a night of ideas. I had to keep waking up to write down ideas and plot points for my novel. The ideas that are coming to me now are central to the backstory of the book, the creation mythology and spiritual evolution my characters are caught in the middle of. Not bad for a bad day.

On my walk back I saw a tide-sculpted sandcastle. Or that's what I considered it. A little Atlantis, self-formed.

I turn 33 next week. My Jesus year, as I call it.

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