Liminal space

We're here, on the coast, in a town called Manzanita, and this ocean is so "in my blood like holy wine," as Joni put it. It's a gorgeous little town (pics when I get back to portland -- I forgot to bring the camera cable) and the beaches are long and deep and inviting. The little house we have is just up above the water a tiny bit (possibly above the tsunami line), with views across the water and hills up to the north. The colours are more vibrant than the gulf island water/sky/mountains that are my first thoughts about the northwest -- pinks and deeper blues and sand along with the endless array of greys. Big waves, constantly moving.

It's the perfect liminal space, this beach, suspended between sea and land. When I was in New Zealand 10 years ago, I was awed by the west coast of the south island, where the land seemed to be in creation right before our eyes -- waterfalls where there were none the day before, seismic tremors that shifted roads and hills, glaciers visibly moving, rushing river where there had been a bridge, rain drumming down with intent. It's less *overt* here, but I feel the same creation energy, mini landscapes sculpted by waves, tiny cultures in the sand, here and gone, endless possibilities.

Don didn't end up coming, so it's just me and Jane, which is a nice face-to-face gaze for us. It's a tonic, this place. Jane and I walked long on the beach until we were alone with the moon after dinner, then stayed up until 3:00 a.m. talking -- family constellations, our work, energy fields we don't fully understand. Then I slept like a well-ferberized baby.

I'm posting from the perfect west coast cafe (good espresso, good scones and muffins, non-quaint stained glass), and we're going driving down the coast a bit today. Then some reading and more good food.

Life is good :-).