On Schoolhouse Beach



 Be free. The least you can do is leave

behind your books and papers and consider

yourself equal, not superior, not owed a

good time. It evokes anger from eternity

that after spending a year in gaining and

losing things, the mere baggage of existence,

our race loads up again to be heavy with the

weight of its own preoccupations on vacation.

To relax with a soul cupped lovingly

between two hands and carried effortlessly

upon the heart is more compassionate.



The sun is ninety-three million miles from

earth, yet the shadow of the moon, when it

comes between the earth and sun is perfectly

fitted to the star and allows those on earth to see a

halo around the sun.

There is an equal miracle in every

definition of love or relationship between

us and those we worship. Do we not worship

those we love? Is it not the ancient pantheon

come back in living flesh? How could one God

find it in His heart to give so much?



Greed has driven me. When I see eyes

I want to fathom, arms I want around my

neck and shoulders, breasts I want erect

beneath my touch, legs I want enfolded at my

waist, it is greed.

Then why come here, to a calm beach

and sit quietly and think and joyfully

watch the way geese and other water birds

paddle in the waves and toss a pebble or two

innocently into the water?

It is mercy.


Who shall I give what I have written?

Who will receive the lot? Anyone? This ship

comes in to this harbor to land and sail

away at will or wreck and sail no more.

Who shall read what I have written?



Goodbye my favored beach, my

friendly solitude. Do you remember the

night I camped out up in the trees in

the days before they outlawed camping?

Or that night I sat here in perfect darkness,

listening to the lovers in the car who

would have been disturbed if I had been so

bold as to try and walk away across those

loose and anything but soundproof rocks?


Out there it will be good to

remember that you are always here. The

quiet, un-trafficked scene, compared with

men and women when they go about their

business. It is all somehow appropriate,

keenly right that a round world should

contain such opposites. When I am here,

I am attracted to the other world.


Fear grips me. That I will never come

back, that I will never be allowed to return.

Odd, how some men fear only that which they have

never known, measure their freedom by their

ability to go forward, but I want to be held,

to be free to go back and forth at will.


Almost through, bear with me. Let me

gather up these last few items, the only

possessions I brought with me to the beach.

No time to say goodbye to perfect strangers?

I lay beside them for so long it seems without

disturbing the peace. Now they have it to

themselves. We all go. They will depart in

their own time. When I come back, they will

be gone.


Yes, I have sought the same face,

even in the water sought the same face.

My own reflection tells me that I am as fluid

as the time which carries me away. To float

out toward the place from which I cannot swim.


Oh, my living God, my soul, my ecstasy.

I live and die and breath to know how good

it is to do those things. Adieu.

The only world I cannot use is that one

they wait to teach in paradise.