Impermanence and equanimity, is the goal.
However, in the mean time, I’d like to do some stuff.
I am an artist.
I studied figure painting at UNF and earned a B.F.A. After receiving my degree, I chose to surf and surf and surf some more. I moved to Costa Rica, for the waves, not realizing that painting proved logistically impossible.
I’ve always carried a camera and surf photography just naturally evolved as my primary source of creativity.
Art is communication. We see a visual image and we relate on a common level, because of the human experience. People that have never been to the beach love images of surfing. Look what happened after the movie, The Endless Summer. Once land locked teenagers, rode the wave of surf culture, to California, Hawaii, Austrailia, Africa, Mexico . They’re still riding that wave.
Such is art.
Here are some shots of local Fernandina Beach surfers.
I am happy to be seated and writing in my blog. It’s been since September 13th that I wrote.
A lot has come and gone, in my mind.
I’ve been practicing meditation. Every morning, I get up at five-ish and I sit. I close my eyes and breath. I’m not new to meditation, I just got away from it. The same way I can get away from other things that are good for me, like eating right, exercise and staying far away from drama.
“There is nothing wrong with change, if it is in the right direction” ~ a quote by Winston Churchill.
Ok-how do I know if it’s the right direction? Hence, meditation. I need to sit and be still. The answer is in the silence.
I was on my way to the pier. I saw some surfers out. I went to go get my camera. One day, I’ll learn to keep it with me. Returning to the beach, armed, I saw this really cool looking rig heading down the road. A guy on a bike, was towing his long board. I thought, “what a great picture that could be.” So, I pulled over, ahead of him, and waited. He turned!
I thought, “that sucks.” What did he do that for?
I guess he’s private. Or maybe he just likes to bike around the long way. Who knows?
So, I followed him to the water.
That’s how I met Debbie. She is a student surfer and professor of law. Dealing with the laws of gravity, she was catching, one wave after the other.
To take the pic above, I should have run around, with the sun at my back to get a better shot, but I felt like I only had a few seconds. She was busy with her lesson.
In the brief few minutes that we talked, she shared with me her enthusiasm for the sport and her philosophy of a simple life.
I agreed with everything she said.
What a nice way to start the day.
Yesterday, I went to the long-awaited Sisters of the Sea-15th Annual-Surf Contest. I had the shortest lens, of any serious photographer. Maybe, that’s why no one saw me as serious. Maybe, that’s why every time I set up to get good shots, three or four spectators would position themselves in front of me.
This morning I had a friend send a message, informing me that there were waves. When I walked out the front door, past my fading zinnias, my eyes focused on the white rock in my yard, my nose detected that smell.
It’s a bit like the bottom of a dirty garbage can. Alright! I knew the waves were going to be better than I thought. The wind was coming out of the west, blowing the paper mill pollution across the island, like incinerator dust blown out of a burning garbage bin.
Don’t tell anyone, the pollution here is our secret.
Come to think of it, so are the waves.
No pictures here.
Only the ones, in my mind. That’s what I deal with… pictures, pictures and more pictures.
Yesterday, when I sat to meditate, the past eased its way onto my reel. It was black and white.
On an Easter Sunday, when I was maybe eight or nine I was run over by a horse. Actually, it was a big pony. But when you’re little, I don’t think it matters. The bit in the horse’s mouth slammed into my head and I once again, on a holiday, landed in the hospital.
I have a clear vision of looking at someone and they were charging at me. It seemed to be on purpose. Barreling down on me and I couldn’t get away. I was trapped. I was slow. I couldn’t believe it was happening.
I screamed, he did this. He ran over me. He did it on purpose.
Oh no, my mother said. That’s not possible, he would never do that.
Pine bark was part of my memory. I know what a pine bark looks like. I had run to a pine tree for protection, but it didn’t save me.
No, no one would ever charge a horse at another person and run over them.
This morning’s meditation was uneventful.
Thinking, thinking, thinking, spilling my brain. Communication is super slack. Showing up for a group picture. Everyone else is wearing black and I have on a brightly colored flower shirt. Not again. What? Why is it always like this? Like what?
Why don’t I do something with this blog? Can’t I stop and fix that heading? Those letters aren’t right. Who cares? Is that my biggest problem? And what about that “cloud” over there? How do I change that? And I really should re-do the image. But you know I’m not about image.
I’m starting over. 100 percent over. OK OK. Continue reading Page One