Steps to know-where. Pacific West coast. Buy the tickets and hop on the ferry. The sky is bright blue. The future is certain. No doubt. The height of your radiance. Full bloom and blossom.
Energy is an eternal delight. This phrase was uttered by William Blake. What did he mean by that? Energy. Could be anything really. The energy of a waterwheel, the energy of lightning & thunder, atomic energy- flower power. We can in some ways quantify this concept of energy, make it real, so it is not hard to grasp. What about eternal delight? Huh? Fancy poetic talk. Nothing is eternal, right? Let alone delight. (Insert sad Picasso clown or defeated Hemingwayan hero). Energy is a dissipative structure , so how can it be an eternal delight?
Your hair radiant under the sun. So bright. Your smile and your eyes beneath the blue sky. The color of bliss. Quivering. Mysterious. Laughing in the waves.
Hulloo!
Across the ocean, the cheerful blare of a ferry’s horn. We toot our own horn, and we wave our hands in the air.
Hulloooo!
In the wind,
In our eyes
All those careless smiles
Spanish galleons sailed this way and christened it La Isla Apodaca. Those rascals were everywhere. Heh. Some of the landmarks in this region have Spanish names too. Streets and bodies of water. It’s almost like entering a realm of separate countries, an alternate history, each island confined within its own space and time. It's a strange place. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is something slightly woo-woo about it.
Life rewinds when we travel, back to the basics. We're forced to rethink what we know about survival. It's the closest we get to suspending an imprint without neuro-chemical aid.
Who lives there? Retirees. Hippies and other counter-cultures. Indigenous peoples. Rich people. Poor people. Everything in between. Castaways and stowaways pulled by the vortex of psychic energy along the broken faults, themselves driven by massive molten conveyor belts grinding beneath the ocean floor.
Energy is an eternal delight, and he who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.
Heavy thoughts by William Blake, but who has time for heavy thoughts as the ferry slows and we enter the narrow passageways, where the islands are silent and dotted with houses now and then, pine forests spilling over the ocean, rocky outcrops formed by quaking upheavals, a small lighthouse standing like a proud guardian on the cliffs. The ferry slowly gliding into the terminal like some strange mechanical sea creature.
There is only this ocean and this boat and this ramp that leads out to the terminal's parking lot, then to town, amidst the tourist shops, to the trails, and the remains of the day.
The ragged coast quivers with energy. She beckons to wicked excitement. Come! She says. Go on, have fun, break a leg. You better be well prepared and provisioned, busy bees, because there be dragons beyond.
An age of discovery. Imagine what it was like so long ago. No European settlements anywhere. Just wilderness and the countless tribes scattered throughout the isles. Unlike anything the Old World had ever seen. There it was! This strange realm, populated by strange cultures and traditions. Your ship’s sails flapping in the wind as dark eyes peer from the ragged shore. A loon. A bear. A wild flower swaying in the breeze.
The desire to peek beyond the confines of the known world stirs within us. Move on, fellow traveler. There is always more down the trail. Wandering. Those of us who have come to this place, not just in body but also in spirit, are transients. We don’t have the deep cultural roots that you find in other places. We go to one island, and we always move on. Can't afford to stand still. Gotta cruise towards the worlds beyond.
Today is warm. The heat on our brows. The salty breeze on our lips. Scenes of ecological memory- bright and green. Development exists on the island, but it is sparse. The path ahead leads to town, to the trail-head deeper into the island.
What awaits there as you drift along the path? Along streams and meadows. Where butterflies flutter, where the pines and cedars flirt behind the bushes.
Why do we travel? The dopamine kick. Neuronal interchange between our eyeballs and the photons that bounce off the trees, the leafs in the tree, the sunlit faces. The sounds and smells. The textures on your tender reptilian skin. Tourism appears to be a legal way to alter consciousness. Realities per minute accelerated. It’s the neuro-bio-chemical hit of novelty. Enhanced consciousness. That’s the beauty of traveling. Every second is imbued with the newness of discovery and re-discovery. The slippery ride down cellular programs. Squiggling from adventure to adventure. Alternate bandwidths, broad and narrow, like shining a diamond light on the deep mystery- a new angle and position, each moment occupying its own space and time, its own eternity- that’s why we travel. Don't you think?
Now, stop for a snack and see the slithering snake in the thicket. She's a bit shy beneath the leaves. Black and yellow. She winks and disappears in the marsh.
Energy all around you in those scenes that you discover during travel. All your troubles left behind, you're now beyond fear, in the thick naked raw experience of life. Just the flow of events in a continous stream. With every step you take. Each sight more fantastic than the last.
You can tell a lot about a culture based on how they treat nature. Their structures and symbols. The landmarks and navigation aids. Here fellow traveler. This way. Tread along that path. Good luck. See you around, my friend. This place is like that. You don't feel like you're in any danger. Sandbox exploration. After all, miles of ocean surround you.
Isn’t it wonderful to get lost in a small island? No matter where you go, this way or that, you’ll arrive somewhere. And isn’t that where you want to be?
By the afternoon, having walked all those miles, your energy will wane. All the scenes, all the memories beneath the whirlpool of light. All delights eternal.
Shutters dimming. Memory full. Deploying reserves to physio-kinetic systems. Processing slowing. Systems shutting down. Time to head back to the ferry terminal. Back across the ocean. Back across the sky. To the city. To the neon. Back to life.
Welcome to Bowen Island!
