Change

[Andeh]

“Change”

Wooden steps, going all the way up to a beach house, which did not belong to me. The only spot on this entire beach that gets any shade.
Cool, near the sun, between its rails. If you wanted more sun, you sat on the third step, want shade, move down a step.
Winter. Blue to choppy gray wavy waters. Summer 75 degree liquid, winter, foamy high waves, and iced over ocean, absolutely awesome.
Sand dunes, sea oats, and whitish gold, yellow sand, mixed with dirt and native special minerals.
Invisible, yet in the middle of every beach scene.
This small beach allowed me to look to either my left, or my right, and pretty much know what's going on. I only arrived here, after a long walk, the stairs were at the exact halfway point of the beach. I could set my drink or a sandwich down on the steps, and enjoy the beach, without even touching the sand. Stay pale while others sunbathe, watch the ocean and meditate on the day and its nature's beauty. Ocean roar, watching my surroundings.
Runners but tiny specks in the distance, see what they look like once they pass by. Anything from a boxy Special Forces guy, to a not so special forces older man running with shirt off and 1980's Ray Ban rainbow lens sunglasses. Yuppies running on the beach with their beachproof baby carriages.
"Dog people" once the dog people pass, business men and yuppie-wanna-be's taking cell phones on the beach, were perhaps talking to their girlfriends, business associates, or perhaps others (?)
I knew people could tell I was there, but sometimes I was able to sit in peace, far back, enough from the main part of sand not to be bothered, but close enough to talk to or see people if I did want to. I enjoyed viewing the week's new gifts, piles of seaweed, or grand new shells I have not seen the week before.
Before a storm, before lightning threatened. I came down there, and it could be so cold I ran back home. I'd seen the beach get choppy, super rolly waves. And completely flat, and the waves never got higher than 5 feet, unless we had a hurricane. I’d never seen surfers here, I saw bodyboarders, and kids with water wings. It was a beach I came to between moves in my life. Visiting my grandparents.
Going from a four year old wearing water wings to an adult who returned to live here. And it was all so new and odd. Never knowing I'd be back here again, but finding the sea and sand a gift that the Higher Spirit wrapped for me and the rest of its attendees today, and for tomorrow.
After I did my sit at the beach, I would either walk the remainder of the beach to the right, pick up shells, stop at the ocean, and test its temperature. Or, stare out beyond the ocean, knowing that aircraft carriers, freight boats, and England were all ahead of me the other side of the world, 6000 miles away, to India, and beyond.
This is one of maybe two places that ever brought me peace, and good time for contemplation, a place to clear me head, and so can have appreciation for the great gifts that nature provides anyone should it whisper its discovery for us to..like, go see it.
And yes, it makes me "stoked".


Know it. Feel this. It’s what happened. They lived in that house for over 40 years. Kind people. Kind people who effortlessly gave to others. Simple people. And I feel I must visit this area, this old neighborhood, at least once, each year. The neighborhood has changed. Brick homes gave way to condos. The people changed. The landscape changed. This sand isn’t even from here anymore. It is shipped in from somewhere else, and dumped. Time.

It is late at night. I can’t see a thing. It’s winter and it’s so cold on the beach that I cannot stand on it. I watch my breath float ahead of me on the wind. Shadow meets me in the corner of this spot. Exchanges information with me. There are shifts afoot. I have seen things go up in smoke that are no more. Old homes, the history of people who once lived here. As soon as someone passes on, there is a yuppie on his cell phone talking about how can he make money on their old home. No one who lives here anymore knows or cares of the people who came before them.

And now I find myself living up in the mountains. Free of the constraint of material nonsense, ignorant people who feel that money gives them the right to rule over other people. But I am not a serf, nor a person wide-eyed alight with admiration towards the towering greed.

See this river, as we walk towards it. Look at all the colors of the leaves on these high trees, by this river. These rocks, and old mill. They used to like to fish here, along this river that winds through two counties. Let us breath in the fresh air and remember them for a moment. I never forget them.

Long ago, at a time when my feet barely fit into the rubber boots that I would wear to wade out into the James River waters. I'd look to my
grandpa, listen to the great haste, & wisdom. Watch and laugh while he'd wander
way out into the water's depths- up to his stomach, and start to fish. My grandmother wore her waders and would help fish too. I'd stay near the shore and hope that
some of the fish still were up there.

After a while, when more were
biting, I'd look up to the old broken down mill, and wonder what
kind of bread it used to make, and what the small community that used to live around here did. I pondered the people and sounds in my head.
Sometimes, the fish would bite, but, other times, my mind would
wander off, to a time when my grandfather was a young person learning to fish by his
own grandfather, down here, by then and when the old mill was still working.

And later when a time was when my grandparent’s talk, and laughter could still be heard and would still echo off of the river now.



I shall return to both homes and remember my ancestors. I will dip my hand in this river, dear river. I will stand before the beach, and run my foot through the ocean. I will do these things to honor them, my ancestors.

[mnaz]

Hey Andeh, I been meanin' to weigh in on this one...

It's written in a kind of rough, raw, free-flowing narrative, so I'm sure the comma police and others may be out to get you...

However, I like the central themes of honoring one's ancestors and those who came before and built communities and infused them with their own unique character... that, and not succumbing to the "paradigm" of money and power as the ultimate ideal... these things are slipping away in our increasingly corporatized, homogenized Wal-Mart-ized way of life (man, that Wal-Mart is such a symbol, such a target, isn't it?).

Anyway.... I also dig the "whiparound" format-- time-shifting and place-shifting... And I can picture those steps to the beach from your description. What I always liked about a beach was the sound of breaking waves, which is all good until special forces guys and dogs and yuppies with cell phones invade the place, which happens all too often... which is why I considered moving to the desert, incidentally (and I don't mean Phoenix)... Anyway... dug.

[Andeh]

Thank ya. Ah yes, when the words start to flow, sometimes I forget about the madness of commas. I shall work on that. & good luck with da desert. Whether it be in your mind or in reality. Bring some water.