Stuck

A neighboring sailboat was having trouble hauling anchor. It seemed to be stuck on something on the ocean floor. Supposedly there are a few shipwrecks in this anchorage. The neighbors tried dropping more chain. No joy. They tried hard reverse. Nope. They tried hauling from a different direction, and, eventually, they got loose and motored away. 

Imagine my surprise when, two hours later, they returned to the exact same spot, and dropped anchor again. Hello? That place is not good for you, remember?

But that’s how we are, ever optimistic that the lover will change. That the relative will suddenly be interested in dialog after decades of jealous sniping. That the so-called friend will not stand you up, again. That the soul-sucking job is worth your invaluable time. It’s not so bad, we think. It’s not horrible. This is probably the best I can do. I’m lucky, really.

Wrong.

When I was homeless, I met a man bicycling the coast of Oregon. He did it every year, his particular odyssey. I had just been swimming in the gorgeous green of Sisters Rock, and the climb back up the hill to my car was nice and warming. As was Dominick, sitting outside his tent eating breakfast. You know how you meet someone and just hit it off? This was one of those rare occasions. I immediately felt comfortable with him. He’s married and chatty and reading Virginia Woolf. He wears a t-shirt with the word DAD emblazoned on it. He carries a red clown nose in a handlebar bag for kids. 

After laughing and singing “O, you take the high road and I’ll take the low road, and I’ll be in Scotland afore ye,” we say goodbye. We are both heading north, and I watch him in the rearview, pedaling, until the road curves away. 

Several miles up the winding highway, I stop at Arizona Beach to write under the trees. Then, spying a spigot, I fill my water jugs. And here comes Dominick! Pedaling to the same tap to brush his teeth. “You are a reminder,” he says. “You remind people how to live. You are Wow-Pow: World of Wonder, Piece of Wonder.” This is exactly how I feel about him.

So I give him my poem, “Can You Surf?” with the words, we are swimming in god, we are all swimming in Love. He reads aloud from a scroll he found on the highway entitled, Tempted into Beauty, with the lines, I look to my left and I see beauty; I look to my right and beauty is there. Beauty surrounds me. Beauty surrounds me.

We decide we are kin. 

“What is our most precious resource?” he asks.

“Love,” I reply.

“Time,” he says, and I realize he is right. Time is all we have. Everything else – possessions, money, relationships – all tidal. They come and go. And that is fine. But how long will we be in these bodies? And do I want to give my time to unpleasant people and dangerous situations? Having done it again and again and again, I am no longer willing. I am dropping more chain. I am trying hard reverse. I am trying other directions until I am free. And I am not – Inshallah – coming back to the same old sticky place.

I never saw Dominick again. Well, that’s not true: I see him very clearly in my mind’s eye. Reminding me that Beauty is above, Beauty is below, Beauty is all around – if I simply give her my time.