Wrights Beach (17)

Well, f*ck. If you know me or follow me at all, you understand that the past two weeks have really sucked. Like many, many others, I have been steeping in a hearty stew of rage, grief, fear, despair, and profound disappointment in people. While I was in a very dark place, I had to go back through photos from after 2016 to find evidence of joy, because it is hard right now to believe joy can exist again. Of course, I found it. One of the places showcasing a particularly defiant moment of joy happened at Wrights Beach. There is a very inspirational guy named Brad Newsham, who used to organize mass protest events where people stand together to form human banners in the shape of enormous words, like “RESIST!” He takes drone pictures of the event, which requires a super human level of organization, dedication, and largely his own time and money. While he was holding one of those on a beach in San Francisco in February of 2017, I gathered a few like minded souls to stage a scaled down, and much more humble, sister protest. There weren’t enough of us to make a human banner, so instead we gathered pieces of driftwood and laid them out to spell “RESIST!” in the sand. I took pictures from atop Duncan’s Landing. It was a small act of solidarity, without much point beyond sharing in a communal sentiment, and exercising our right to dissent from current events in a public space. That very right is one of the multitude of things now at stake in the coming days.

I feel much more tiny now, and older, and more tired, with less hope, and more disdain. Not a great time in history to be bearing witness to the unfolding of it all. As we enter this horrible Find Out era of FAFO, I am searching for anything to keep me afloat. In my grasping attempts to make sense of this through other people’s posts on social media, I came across the parable of the hummingbird. The story goes that there is an enormous forest fire, and all of the animals are fleeing, trying to get away from the flames engulfing their home. A bear spies a hummingbird flying toward the center of the forest, heading back in the direction of the terrible fire. The bear continues to run, and again sees the little hummingbird pass by, again flying toward the danger. The bear asks the hummingbird what on earth it is doing. Does it not know that it is going the wrong way? The little hummingbird explains that it is going to the lake to fill its beak with water, and then bringing the water to drop on the fire. The bear is aghast and stares, speechless, in wonder. The little hummingbird continues, “It is not my purpose in life to put out the fire. It is my purpose to do what I can to help in whatever way I can, for as long as I can.” It is a beautiful story for times like these.

So, here again in this lovely place, I am able to restore a sense of balance, or at least move in that direction. The relentless engine of the ocean waves reminds one of life’s Big Picture. It reminds one about being impossibly small, but in a good way. When all is ephemeral and fleeting, the magnitude of the dark side recedes just a little bit into the shadows. The dark has always been there, and will continue to be there regardless of all of the history of human activity. And also present, of course, is the light. And in its eternal intermingling, all we can do is carry our tiny bits of water, over and over, until we can’t.

We did find joy, and respite, and rejuvenation in the beauty of the California coast. We hiked eight miles on the Kortum Trail, where every step shuffled off just a little more heaviness. We celebrated Richard’s birthday with an outstanding dinner of Miso Maple Chicken Thighs, with rice, mushrooms, spinach, and tons of fresh ginger. We drove out to the little Pelican Market in Bodega Bay to pick up some delicious chocolate birthday cupcakes. At night, we watched episodes of the series, “Trying,” which is light and uplifting, and all about two small people trying, against all obstacles, to share their love and joy by building a fragile new family.

Here’s to all the hummingbirds out there. Here’s to irrational resilience and nonsensical acts of hope. I know I’m not done raging, or grieving, or feeling irrevocably confused. But I also know I’m not alone. And I will contract into my small community, adding whatever energy I can muster to help in whatever way I can. Until I can’t.

Total miles: 83.4, 2 hours 45 min, 15.9 mpg. Site 1. No hookups. Slight cell for Verizon from site. 1 bar 5g or 2 bars LTE for both on the beach.