Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

The First Day of 2011

I wake in the dark to an empty house, well-rested.  Brew coffee and write.

As the first shadows begin to appear in the early morning sun rise, I make my way to my car and drive to one of the most beautiful beaches I know.  My steps are the first imprints of 2011 on these golden sands, wandering slowly under a pinking sky.

Often during this time of year the waves are so big you cannot walk to the end of the beach.  This morning the winter swell is moderate, the tide low.

photo courtesy of Pepe Conley

I have an all-access pass to the place that is my temple.  Not a soul in sight.

At the fresh-water spring that flows through rock and thick green moss, I strip down and stand in the tall fall.  Look out at the vast ocean that stretches north into nothing but horizon.  Salt and sea mist rise and cool water anoints my crown.  Good morning!

In the afternoon Jeb and I load up my car with good friends and a big bowl of Thai squash soup.  The scent of garlic and curry wafts through the vehicle as we make our way to the Taro Patch where a community potluck is being held.  Hawaiian chanting, African drumming, songwriters and a didgeridoo.  Two couples get up and renew vows before the 400+ crowd in ‘sacred union’ ceremony.  There is interpretive dance that I think has something to do with a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

All of Kauai’s woo woo crew are here in a potpourri of bright batiks, Hawaiian prints, Burning Man accessories, fedoras and board shorts.  We are an eclectic family all perspiring together in the muggy grass.  But we’re happy by the riverside, in the sacred space of this place at the base of Kalalea – Anahola’s distinctive mountain.

Children run about safely unattended.  Jeb keeps scaling jagged lava rock and I can’t decide if I should pluck him down or just stop watching.  Elijah and John Dumas are on the stage singing about the freedom of living your dreams.  They’ve altered the standard “Happy New Year” so that we all may transcend time and space, by simply saying “Happy New Now.”  It’s New Year’s Day on Kauai.

The event culminates with a “Goddess Chant” but I’m confused to see all the women at the back of the stage and a man with the mic in the front singing about opening our hearts.  We gather our things and exit before I have a chance to see them come front and center.

Back home with friends, we eat a simple dinner of garden pesto and pasta.  Crisp bread and red wine.  For dessert, maple wafers and tangerines by the fire, while a friend from Tahiti tells tales of diving with dolphins in his thick French accent.  Jeb demonstrates how to make a blade of grass whistle in your hands.

From Kauai, I’m wishing you a beautiful new year and a most excellent ‘Now’!

 

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

15 Seconds of Grace

photograph by Jessica Dofflemyer

It’s day four in my feel-good place and everyone is coming unraveled.  Grown ups climb trees, businessmen dance unconditionally and poets recite rhymes of blooming roses.

I speak with the Ambassador in the Big Sur sunshine.  This is a man who appreciates metaphors and has the endearing habit of telling people what he loves about them.

He’s been here for over a decade.  I cast my eyes to the curving coastline and ask him, “Do you ever take this place for granted?”

“I don’t think I do…”  He pauses taking in our surroundings then points up in the mountains behind us.

“My house is up there and I start the mornings with this little ritual.  I’ve got this coffee maker, you know the kind that stops and lets you take the pot out before it’s completely done brewing?  So I’ll have gotten out of bed and I’ll be standing there at the coffee maker in my kitchen…in my house in the morning – it’s kinda cold – so I’m shivering a little.  And then when it’s ready, I’ll quickly get my first mug of coffee and hop back into bed.  It’s warm under the covers.  And I have this view…and I’m looking out my window, holding my warm cup of coffee…and I’ll just be filled with this gratitude.”

I smile at the Ambassador through watery eyes.  The days here have softened me to a liquid pool of tender feeling.  Simple words swell my heart to overflow like a fountain.

“Every morning, there in my bed I’m just washed with this feeling.  It’s like 15 seconds of grace.”

“Every morning?”

“Every morning.”

Perhaps it is the grace he speaks of that overtakes me.  I am like a gushing river that will flood its banks if my throat opens to make a sound.  I can only look down and breathe as tears slide down my face.

“I can see that you are really touched by what I’m saying.”

I nod and speak quietly, “I really love this place.”

“Come here.”  He gestures me to standing and wraps his big arms around my frame.  My face presses against the stitching of his t-shirt on which is embroidered the name of our locale.  It’s as though the land itself is hugging me, the Ambassador embracing me on its behalf.

For a moment I am enveloped.  Enfolded by deep valleys.  Held by old trees.  Soothed by cold springs.  Surrounded by succulents.    Grace.  Heart.  Home.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Snakes, Owls and Waking Dreams

Along the spine of Dry Creek road, soft foothills have watched me grow for a lifetime.  At least once a year I return to this place to see my family and let Jeb roam the creekbed where I once swam in summer.

Occasionally this place of my family roots makes its way into the landscape of my dreams.  About a week ago I dreamt that I was walking along Dry Creek with Jeb at my side.  Though the area rarely sees a sprinkling of snow dust, in my dream the ground was thick in a blanket of snow.  We approached a curve in the road, the place where the asphalt cuts through a small hill.  To the left a sacred fire was burning low in the soft whiteness.  Smoke billowed up to an alter of a few animals.  It was understood this was a ceremony conducted by a Native, a shaman, a medicine man, though no one was in sight.

This afternoon I’m back on Dry Creek, Jeb and I driving along the road – no snow – just golden hills with winter green grass beginning to peek from beneath tufts of brown.  Suddenly I notice the shape of a snake in the road, unusual for this cold time of year when snakes usually hibernate.  Intrigued, I pull over and Jeb and I begin to walk the road.  As we approach, I realize I am traveling the path of my dream.  Jeb by my side, the exact spot, right at the curve.

Here we see the long shape of a gopher snake, clearly deceased, with the story of its demise marked along its back.  Jeb’s first sighting of a snake in real life, this close.

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer

Later, I enjoy sharing my snapshots of the snake with family, all of them agreeing it is odd to see one this late in the year.  I ponder the symbols:  dreams of snow, a sacred ceremony connected to the land, a curve in the road, a snake out of season, shedding of skin…

Long after dark Jeb and I are once again driving back the way we had come.  We wonder if a hawk or other bird may have come along and taken our snake friend for a meal.  With our headlights blazing, we slow at the curve in the road and discover the long thin body glowing in our brights – the snake is still there.  Leaning forward towards the windshield, we gaze then pass it slowly.  As if on cue, the bright white underbelly of an owl swoops just above our car in the dark sky.  It hovers in flight, flapping wild wings alongside us in some kind of mystical, night time omen.

photo courtesy of Dry Crik Journal

What any of it means, I do not know.  A cluster of wildlife sightings all in one bend in the road – dreaming and waking.

What would the Natives say?  The zoologist?  The poet?

Jeb says, “Cool!”

I’d say the same.