TRIBE OF EDEN
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12/24/2007 1:27:06 PM
THE TORCH
8-25-07 -- from my diary during a week at the ocean's edge .
" another splendid early morning walk . immediately upon openning the door i was seized by a sensation of freshness and vividness . purity . first morning of the world , good vibrations , the very molecules of the air scrubbed clean by starlight , refracting the rays of a new sun like a billion billion crystals . the hiss of the wind thru needles of pine , the fragrance of incense , forest floor , flowers , warm light , and the distant murmuring sea . i smelled the lake a half mile before i reached its edge , my senses sharpening like an animal's . i walked fast , breathing deep , sniffing , catching movements in the corners of my eyes .
when i reached the ocean drive it was like entering another world . the direct rays of the sun charged the atmosphere , as if god had just left his creation work , here , and the air still hummed with the divine potency . i felt elevated , awake , in love with the long grasses , the scrubby pines , the beach plums , the scent of the tan-stained sands . the desert at the edge of the sea . i envisioned other deserts , vast african and palestinian tracts , where prophets sought the vivid purity of the burning lands to reclaim the pure burning inside themselves .
i reached white crest beach , where i learned to surf a decade ago . my home break , ancestral waters of my surfer's soul . i stood at the summit of the dune overlook , the sea far below , the sun high above . me , in my humanity , median between the heights and the depths , born of both , endowed with their powers .
i planted my feet in the sand and faced the sun . spread my arms wide , a cross of life and joy and no sacrifice . again i visioned the burning heart of the star , breathed it into my own , mystic communion of a perfect summer day . surrender , pleasure, life. i turned to leave . staring into my eyes was an adonis , a young black surfer with body and features worthy of marble , allelujah ! i saw that his spirit had been switched on by my salutation to the sun . the joy light gleamed in his eyes . 'hey', he said . 'hey' , i smiled back .
'of course' , i said to myself , 'a surfer would be dialed into this vibe. it's what we live for - the church of the thrill of life' .
i walked along , hips swinging , reveling . re-entered the forest , descended from the desert's heights into cool and fragrant vales . slowed my breathing down , smiled at gravity and dropped into my belly . balancing my heights and depths , exhiliration and peace .
THEN HE PASSED ME . the messenger - a thin , white-haired , aging hipster on a beat-up old royce bicycle . had to be at least 70 . had to be from new york city . he was all lean nerviness and faded swagger . must have been there for sinatra . must have been there for elvis , the stones , the dawn of rock and the sixties' phase shifts . got a revolution , baby . volunteers for america . he'd been passsing me the last three days . like clockwork , at the same spot on the same road . whether i left an hour earlier or later , the collision occurred . i heared the synchronicity gears in their silent whirring .
HE HAD MY NUMBER FROM THE JUMP . first time he passed me , he called back over his shoulder - 'cream is going to play madison square garden this winter' . never stopped , never even made eye contact . the town crier of rock had delivered the news . i called back , 'yeah , well clapton better play the way he used to play or they shouldn't bother . bring the fire , leave that no-soul blues-guy shit at home' . that got a snort out of him as he wheeled out of sight . somehow i knew he had seen cream in the sixties , when clapton was clapton . when rock was more than corporate product , when it was a highway to freedom , an artistic punch in the gut and a spiritual revelation . when avatars roamed the earth . HAS ROCK DIED , OR HAVE WE ?
the next day as he pedaled by he called back over his shoulder-- 'the s
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