misplaced mama

Mile 1060.  M.I.A. blaring on the stereo (must check her out of you like to dance).  The pacific ocean slaps the sand to my left.  Rugged mountains explode to my right.  Heaven.  Right here.  Nowhere else.  Nobody can convince me there is a better place anywhere, anytime than this moment on earth.

We just got done camping at Rufugio State Beach, somewhere close to Santa Barbara (note: amazing campground, request Spot 63 for maximum wave sounds at night).  We pulled in last night, fixed the stroller, and then pushed the girls down the 3 mile path from Ruferio to El Capitan which is 3 miles of pure bliss cliffs dropping down to pristine and undeveloped coast.  We climbed down at one point, when the cliffs turned to just rock and we were sure we wouldn’t die on the climb, and took some photos before the sunset (and my camera battery died).

Mia is a child who is hard to sustain any kind of focus.  Granted, she is just four years old and what four year old has focus.  But I can see the difference between her and Sula.  Sula will sit for periods of time and just be, play, listen, follow along.  It’s easier for Sula.  It takes Mia great work to just sit still and focus, she is too occupied with seeing from the eyes on the back of her head. But here, where land meets water, Mia is captivated.  She has no wants or whines or needs.  She only has her wool hat, which she uses as a bundle and collects rocks and shells.  She has only her stick of driftwood which she carves shapes and forms and letters in the sand.  She has only her bare feet and the squeal of her voice as the foamy ocean hits her skin.  Her face is lifted, her eyes shine.  The sadness I saw in her eyes the month before we left was real.  She felt the stress of transition.  And now, she is unleashed.  Her power is grand and her imagination limitless.  She runs and leaps and lives in a world I love to watch.

For the past 2 mornings we rose from bed a stones throw from the ocean.  It’s impossible for me to carry any stress or weight when the first thing I see is the sand and the vastness of water that seems endless and infinite.  To imagine that some people get to see this everyday upon waking.  I only hope all the people who wake with windows looking out at this view wake up in light, happiness, gratitude.  They are lucky folks.

Since my life the last few months seemed to be one bump of exhaustion after another, it’s so hard to believe that I am actually driving this trip.  The girls so content in the backseat.  So happy to have a little 7x8 foot camper to call home.  We are all completely thriving.  Even the little facts that we still have not secured a rental home (we’ve been trying) or a midwife (not trying to hard because I gotta see her face to face) have not gotten me to stress in the least bit.  It’s like we somehow mastered the Law of Time and Harmonics and everything is just falling into place.  I don’t want to speak too soon, but the timing with closing the house and leaving has left us with a trail of the most perfect weather.  Ranging from 90 degrees in Zion, to beautiful 65-80 degree days at the beach in southern California, I can’t complain.

I woke up this morning and jumped in the ocean instead of taking a shower at the camp.  It wasn’t warm (brrrrrrr), but the baby demanded that I do it and I’m glad I did.  The cool and salty water cleansed me, deeper than skin.  My dry and brittle desert hair, pumped up fill of minerals and curls are now forming.  My desert skin was exfoliated by soft sand and sea.  The sun was warm as I ran out and I sat there and let it dry me off, digging my toes and fingers down deep into the palpable earth.  These will be the last rays of southern cali sun that this growing body will feel for a while.  Like a Rite of Passage, I let go of the Sun God, give honor while my body  sit underneath this light.  I am about to enter into a sphere of mist and fog, when the sun appears, but like the rainstorm in the desert, it comes as a rare and valuable gift.  I think I am ready for this shift.  As a matter of fact, I know I am.  I have gathered more than 20 different soup recipes that call specifically for chilly and rainy days near the northern sea.

We drive for about 3 hours until we land in Big Sur.  I haven’t been there since 1998 when B and I wandered the rocky beaches, pretending we were hiking on the moon.  It’s not such a far fetch.