October.  In the morning I sit on the cabin porch, watching the pelicans glide smoothly by, single file, inches above the cresting waves.  They ride the invisible updraft as the wave lifts and peaks.  Then, when the wave finally collapses, they flap in unison and pull up.  After a short glide they pick up the updraft of another wave and glide without flapping their wings again, until the wave gives out. 

     Found new writing on the wall which reflects exactly how I feel today:

     "Still stuck

 
    Sunny day.  Too lazy to fish or anything.  Inexpressible peace everywhere.  A white airplane roars past, very close to the cabin, just off the water.  The cabin shakes from the engine's roar.  The plane is so close I can see the pilot, looking at me.  I wave.  The plane's wings wave back.  The engine goes to full throttle as the plane pulls sharply up and disappears over Mussel Rock.

     Later I find more writing on the wall:

     "The starting point is the self.  Its essence is water.  Only clarity and willingness to change is effective now.  A correct relationship to yourself is primary, for from it flows all possible correct relationships with others, and with the divine.  B.B."

     I somehow feel guilty setting on the porch for hours on end, just looking at the beauty of this place.  Then I laugh, thinking how the average person can watch TeeVee for over six hours a day and think absolutely nothing of it!

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     In the book is a drawing of a tourist.  The caption reads,

"...maybe everyone who comes here should tell their friends it sucks."

     Another drawing shows "spirit beings" on the beach with the cabin in the background.  The note above the drawing reads: 

     "Well, this IS a nice place!  I certainly didn't expect to find this cabin.  A beautiful place to rest, read the words of others, and enjoy the sun, wind, sand, cliffs, plants, and ocean.  Enjoyment to all who may come here and keep it well.  This is a treasure.  T."

     January-1989.  On the high trail coming in I found a broken spear point, north of the waterfall.  It is a relic of an ancient technology, which was destroyed by our technology, which is now destroying all living things on this planet.  But perhaps this very technology will provide us a way to migrate from this planet, before our sun blossoms into a red giant and totally incinerates the earth.

     I left the broken spear point where it was.  Now I can rediscover the joy of finding it each time I come here.

     In the book I read where someone else is enjoying the writings on the wall of the cabin:

     "Still in my bed, I see writing on the wood of the shack.  The signature, of my friend-love.  K.A."

     Others have written in the book:

     "...I learned harmony here.  I learned solitude.  I learned imagination.  And I gradually ceased to be terrified by the immensity of what my senses could never perceive... If we have any worth, we'll preserve this and teach our children that such a thing is not only possible, but of immense, immeasurable, and even terrifying worth."

     "Ah, I need solitude!  I have come forth to this beach at sunset, to see the forms of the ocean in the horizon...to behold and commune with something grander than man.  Henry Thoreau & B.D."

     "I'll blast away in the sky.  Feel so free.  My own mind.  I'm never ever coming back.  Everything will be just fine.  Watch me fly.  J.H."

     Very Hot Afternoon.  I am startled by a girl in a bikini stepping through the door of the cabin.  I am not dreaming; she is very real.  She smiles and hands me two ice-cold bottles of Pacifico beer!  Divine providence! 

     It turns out that she is with two friends who have somehow carried in an ice chest and are hanging out on the beach, by the waterfall.  I have to wonder just how many lifetimes I would have to be here before this could happen again...

     July. My youngest son spends two days at the cabin with me.  He's been studying geology and at the south end of the beach he shows me the "pillow lava" from the ancient volcano, which is part of what formed Point Sal.  I've seen that strange looking pillow lava before, but didn't know what it was. 

     We're fogged in the entire time we are at the cabin.  But there are lots of sea otters, dolphins, pack rats, serenity and tranquility.  That night I slept hard.  I dreamed very clearly that:

              *  *  *  LIFE IS JUST A DREAM *  *  *

     A few years after having this dream, I had a dream that I feel was procreated from my dream at the cabin.  I had been camping alone for three days at Hidden Willow Valley, which is an oasis in the heart of the dunes a few miles north of the cabin (between Oso Flaco and the Santa Maria River).  I had been fogged in there for three days.  During the nights the fog would grow even thicker.  It gathered in the willows above me and dripped on my tent all night.  The last night I was there I vividly dreamed:

             *  *  *  I AM THE DREAM OF A DREAMER ...

             MY DREAMS HAVE DREAMS THAT DREAM  *  *  *

     I awoke feeling that I was a dream, which creates and gives birth to more dreams.  These dreams then give birth to their own dreams.  Dreams procreate dreams.  The DNA of dreams combines with that of other dreams to create infinite variety.  The dream spinning process unfolds as dreams procreate their own dreams that dream dreams that dream (>):  

     Part of my quest towards self-realization and awareness is this journey of going back through the genealogy of dream selves; searching out the source of the original "dreaming dreamer" (<):

     The original "Dreaming Dreamer" may be a dream that I helped create.  If so, I should see a reflection of myself in the original DNA template of the universal dream of all existence.

     The part of me that is writing this must be a temporary form that has crystallized out of the original dream.  It allows me to step away from the dream just long enough to write this, before the life-form dissolves and I wake up, back in the dream.  It also allows me just enough time to use that temporary crystallized form as a paradigm about the procreation of all existence by way of sex and DNA.

     Paradigm: The same sexual process we see in living things applies to all of creation.  In the endless swirling galaxies the stars are doing an invisible sexual DNA exchange process that allows creation of blazing starry nights from the apparent nothingness of empty space, which continues to expand. 

     The "nothingness" behind all this is a dream.  It is like a pretty girl's smile: it has no mass whatsoever, yet a single glimpse of it can begin a sequence of events that continues the endless process of two people becoming three.  And stars making galaxies of stars...

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     September evening- 1989.  Sitting on the porch, I watch Arcturus setting straight out from the cabin.  I flash back to a very warm night in the Mediterranean sea, many years ago.  I was on a submarine (SS 418) and we were riding on the surface at night.  The air was completely still, and the sea was perfectly flat.  The ocean had become a mirror full of stars. 

     As we ploughed through the mirror of stars, cold green flames of disturbed phosphorus boiled up along the sides of the black hull we were riding.  A wide swath of cold green flames extended behind us, where we had been, clear to the horizon.  We were running on batteries and it was totally silent.  No one spoke for fear of breaking the spell.  It was something none of us had seen before, and a night to remember.  And tonight is one of the nights I vividly remember it.

     October.  Evening.  Hot off-shore wind.  An endless string of big monarch butterflies glides past the cabin, heading north.  They are almost single file, flying by me on the porch.  I can almost touch them without moving from where I am sitting.  I make several counts and get an average rate of about twenty a minute.  The line trails as far as I can see, from the south to the north end of the beach. 

    In the book a young girl has made a great line drawing of a woman's face with long hair.  Beneath it she has written:

    "This is my vision ...

    The writing stops me cold.  I feel my mind falling into the snare of the drawing and the words.  I realize I have been wanting the exact same thing all my life, but just didn't know how to say it.

    Night.  I'm still sitting on the porch of the cabin.  A coyote trots by nonchalantly, just twenty feet away.  I flash my light.  His yellow eyes glow.  He totally ignores me and continues on down the beach.  He might be the same one I saw this morning near the waterfall.

    Then I remember a couple of trips back when I was sitting on the porch in very dense fog.  Two ghostly shapes appeared on the beach to the north, moving rapidly.  I watched as a pair of coyotes came towards me, running silently side by side in the mist, like silver ghosts.  They ran past the cabin and disappeared in the night.

    Later I am walking on the beach.  The sand crabs on the wet sand glow with phosphorus.  A touch with a finger and their glow fades, grows smaller and smaller, as they quickly dig down.  In an instant their light is out, as they disappear beneath the damp sand.

    Afternoon.  A lizard on the cabin roof is doing push-ups in the sun.  A black ant wanders near the hind foot.  The lizard spins in a blur.  Ant vanishes.  The lizard sits in the sun, unblinking.

     In the book is written:

     "This place bombards our senses...the person who built this cabin lives within each and every one of us.  It's the person who tells us periodically to quit looking at the world around us from the perspective of how we're going to improve it, change it, modify it, or destroy it.  K.S."

     March-1990.  New writing on wall:

     "TIME IS EVERYTHING."

     "Pass the joint, not the crack pipe."

     "One more day-One million brain cells later."