The metaphysical disease... and healing

Tybee Beach is what I might miss most about Savannah. We've only been twice, but the coast here is different than in California. I'm fiercly proud of the Pacific, but there's someting tamer about the Atlantic here, something smaller. And on the days I've been to the beach (both were lightly rainy) the overcast skies, grim waters, and grassy dunes scratched an itch for experience that can't quite be reached in SoCal.



Tumultuous happenings, like the one that led us to the beach Friday, have happened with more frequency as of late. Even though I've mentioned it a couple times, I don't think it has anything to do with Mercury being in retrograde.



The changes, chaos, and general craziness have caused me to slip from my hypothetical commitment to update this blog. I'm not really bothered by it. It's much more important for me to be a good wife right now than a good netizen.



I gush, I gush. But Reagan is very tolerant and patient with me, and his support and encouragment keep me going.



Unfortunately as we get into gear to make the trek back to the land of our births, my "keeping going" has been less with drawing or writing than in the previous weeks. I'm avoiding Firefox on my laptop due to 100 tabs with reference photos that are meant to be sketching practice. Never enoug time, never enough time.



As massively powerful as scientists say our human brains are, it's difficult to keep track of everything. I wish I could always hold in the front of my brain the memories of Friday. No matter what else I think about, I want to keep close to my thought process and understandingn the thoughts I think when I look at these pictures. So big, so small. Everything we live is a beautful paradox, and the shining facets of each moment of life refract and compound the universe in more ways than I can bare to think about.



That might be a bit much. Here's some pure happiness







Read between the pictures and imagine the dash down the hard packed sand as I ran from where I left my jacket, socks, and shoes, racing the 30 yards to the water's edge. It's not in pictures. The truth and reality are precious, remembered, and completely mine.

This is taken from the swing where Reagan and I sat and talked for a long time while I dried my feet, trying to resist dragging them in the ultra fine sand. We talked about logistics, and we talked about ideas. Details and concepts, and all the things moving back to California would mean.



I left Tybee hungry, as I always do, but the time spent was several times more than worth it.