There were mornings there in which I swore were nothing like any mornings I had ever seen before. The sea and the sunrise look different on the West coast as opposed to the East. The grayness of morning and the silvery mist atop the blue Pacific and the rumble sounds of the waves crashing in and then hissing after the collapse to return to sea was how I’d see the mornings. This, by the way, is how the Earth breathes. The ocean swells and the waves rise and fall like the chest of the body as it inhales and breathes out.
I had never seen places like this. I never saw mornings like this where I stood, looking outwards from the shoreline at San Diego’s Imperial Beach. I never believed that I would be where I was, running a private retreat for a client that held such an interesting position in the art world.
There was a woman that sat cross-legged on the rockpile each morning. She was meditating with the tops of her hands on the inside of her knees and palms faced up towards the heavens. Her face was lifted towards the sky. Her expression was as though she was inhaling the scent of the world through her nose and exhaling through her mouth; as if to inhale with a sense of replenishment and as if to exhale the unwanted stressors to feel cleansed like the shoreline.
She was middle-aged with dreadlocks, tanned skinned and toned as if to show her body was in tune with the wellness of her mind.
I seldom saw things like this back in New York, which is where I’m from. I was on the other side of the world – or at least to me, I was on the other side of the world. I was here on my own steam and working in a position I never expected would come true.
I am a New Yorker. This is true but I will admit there is something out there for me. I will admit my fascination with the West coast world. I admit that San Diego has sunsets that are more beautiful than I could have ever possibly imagined.
And L.A. is fine. It’s got its glitz and glam and its got a sense of style. There is something to it. Beverly Hills, sure, there’s something here. Of course there is.
This is where the movie stars play. Had it not been for Hollywood or the sign, or the reported vibes of Sunset Strip, I might not have ever been curious. I can say I’ve been here. I saw this.
I sat in a diner that was not far from The Riot House one morning, eating my hash and eggs and sifting through the dreams I have of being “discovered.”
(Wouldn’t that be a trip?)
Someone famous came in. He was a singer, which is all I will say. He was drained from the previous night , or at least he appeared to be. He looked as though he just rolled out of bed and so did his transgendered guest as I thought to myself without the intention of judgement “Hmm, I never knew.”
I don’t know what this place looks like now. And I mean L.A. when I say this because the glitz and glam have been shut down for a spell.
L.A. and the machines and the systems have been quarantined. But I will bet there is a little section of beach down in good old S.D. that is still unmolested by the Hollywood tinsel. I’m sure the sunsets here are still the same. And the beach and the pier and the waters that rush to the shore to recede back to the sea have not changed at all. There is no need for the glitz and glam because Mother Earth is here, breathing, and me; God, if I do nothing else or go nowhere else in my life, I can say that I was here to dip my toes in the sand and feel the warm breeze on my face at Imperial Beach in San Diego.
Don’t worry California. Your beauty is enough to whet the appetite. There’s so much more to you than the world knows about.
But I know. And who knows, maybe you and I can be reacquainted again someday. Besides, it’s been a while since I had a fish taco or a shrimp burrito. Man, those were good!