An Island in Sausalito
Sunday April 23, 2023 11:15 A.M.
"all the lines you drew for me to walk; well i walked them well, didn't i?" ~ Park Avenue
There's an island in the distance again. I reach my hands out, in an effort to crush it with my hands. I make the shapes of the teeth of a big scary dog with my fingers, and crunch down. I suspend myself for a second before lifting my jaws, only to find myself disappointed in the completely unharmed structure far away.
The island appears as a round disk suspended in endless ripples of blue. I like to imagine that all that ever existed was eternal and unrelenting flatlands of calm water in this universe, and I could only come across a blemish in the pattern after an infinite amount of time and distance. The trees have overgrown the land, hugging it from coast to coast. The island does not seem too big from where I am, but I have a long way to go. I look up, and the rays of the sun shine directly down on me. I think about the sky as my ancestors probably did. The warm ball up there moves across a sky made of the softest fabric. The clouds seem so far away too, but I can touch their reflection in the water and for some reason that makes them more tangible to me. I see the sky as something inaccessible, like how they saw heaven. Instead, I see it as a necessary separator for the simple sandbox that is the sea that lays before me, in order to give it meaning. God was just getting started here. Maybe this existence is the demo of the universe, or one with default values initialized. The world is empty, but it is pure. I feel pure for a while, too. I am just a pair of eyes here, but if I was otherwise absent then what would be the point of this delicate and useless creation? Maybe the sole purpose of existence in the universe is to observe the existence of this universe.
I sit in my raft for a moment. It is flat, and not particularly sturdy. It is not meant for the travel I am about to embark on. The water is calm, but slowly moving against me. I thrust my paddle into the water, in an effort to counteract this subtle warning. As i stroke the water, I catch it at such an angle where the liquid deflects my stride. It feels pointless. I want to float back. I feel tired.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
I don't feel like myself. I feel like a weary house cat bothered by an unwanted house guest that harbors the selfish desire to pet me. I feel the sun stroke my back, and I retreat further into my thoughts. When I get this way, I just want to feel how I felt yesterday. The days fly by here, with the sunrise and the sunset being the only indicators of time spent. I try to just keep moving against the current, and put more diligence into the labor of my paddling. As I move through the murky fluid, I can see the dark grass through it, and everything that has died along the way.
The island has gotten a little closer now, and I can make out some shapes on it. There is a forgotten wooden picnic table with chipped green paint on the beach. It seems to have washed ashore like some castaway, but the waves have taken great care to position it in a manner that reflects the intentional hand of an urban planner.
I imagine her in my situation. Well, I imagine her being here. She's seated at the table positioned so far away. She crosses her legs over one another, and then unties them multiple times before proceeding to plant both firmly in the sand. She fidgets with the strands of the hair around her ear and taps the bench incessantly. I know it is impossible to see all of this from this distance but I feel it. I increase the speed of my paddling.
From some rogue waves crashing to the right, the raft starts to rock. I counteract her deterrent with my own rocking. When I am in calm waters again, I don't see her anymore. Convinced with the delusion that she might have moved into the dense forest, I continue on with a second wind. I hear the water all around me, like tiny little clocks, ticking in a seemingly random orchestration. I feel a soft breeze on my face, but it makes no sound. It wraps around my ears, and hugs my shirt to my torso. The weight of the air in front of me makes me relax even though it is trying to slow me down.
At this point of the travel, I can see the island's scenery
with as much clarity as my hands in front of me. I'm almost
done. I wonder if her journey was this hard and I think about
how she passed the time. I know she isn't there anymore, but
that doesn't stop me from my fixation now that my goal is this
close. The current wraps around the outline of the beach,
and it is much harder to overcome than before.
I turn myself sideways, in an effort to use the water
speed to support my travel. The sun starts to burn on
my back, and I can feel it engraving the light in the skin
on my shoulder. The island moves in my vision from each
stride I make. Every time my paddle digs into the water, I look
down for a moment. After about thirty strides, The black
water abruptly ends. The sea grass does not live this close
to the island. The floor is now replaced with white sand
sloping upwards ever so slightly towards the landmass. The water no longer
seems so dark, but the color properties of the liquid have
certainly not changed. An abstraction, an illusion.
After i have this clarity, I cease my rowing and place my
oars on top of the raft, aligned to it's body down the center.
When I build up enough courage, I jump out of the boat and
splash into the water. The first sound to exceed my previous
threshold of silence is abrupt and coincides with the shock
of the cool water rushing over me. I can feel my heart
beating rapidly. I place my hands on the side of my raft
to steady it, and begin to pull it towards the land.
Once I am close enough to a tree branch that hangs over the water,
I tie my line off on it to secure my boat for a moment.
It seems unstable, but I won't be staying long. The sound of the crashing waves
is now more apparent, and I feel a supporting force in
the water, urging me in the direction of intended travel
for once. With each movement of water towards the shore,
I breathe in. Each recession, I breathe out. I want the island
to know that I am a part of it's ecosystem. Now with each step,
my knees exit the water and plunge back in, making each stride
awkward and creating the appearance of waddling like a penguin in over-size clothing.
At the point where I am now more sky than sea, I see my shadow
connect with the land. The sand at my feet begins to grow rapidly
in it's incline, and when I finally exit the water, the caps
of my feet are covered in a sea foam. The dry sand feels good
as it moves through the slits between my toes and I make my first of few imprints
on the land. They will be cleansed almost immediately by the rising tide.
I walk to the picnic table and notice some letters scratched into the wood:
Y . A . N . A.
I study each letter carefully, and I can tell that she wrote it.
I feel at peace.
I sit down in front of the table and plant my feet deeply into the earth.
I pick up the sand around me with my hand and watch it fall through the cracks between the joints of my crooked fingers as they try their hardest to retain the fine dust that is slowly escaping their crude construction. I zone out watching this decay until I notice a cold wind brush across my back. I turn around and see the sun is touching the horizon. The amber glow in the sky grows immensely for a few minutes until it starts to fade into a deep blue, when for a moment, the sea and the sky are painted with the same brush.
I am falling asleep on this ride Sunday April 23, 2023 07:30 P.M. ~jj