Mind over Matter

south pacific blue


In the narrow window between morning and afternoon, the man rubbed his burning eyes with both hands. The skin would be burning again tonight and sleep would not be easy. Not only the skin but also the shoulders, especially the left, right under the blade.
He hadn't been in the salt water longer than two hours for almost a month.

It was an early morning rise and dance with the waves that had rendered him useless. It was still dark at 5am when he pushed off on the skateboard loaded up with a 7'6 single fin, wetsuit and towel from an already crowded Californian car park.
Old and young were filing down the long path as he whooshed past, trusting in his balance and praying earnestly. His fearless leader, Harris, had said it would be fast but he hadn't expected this.
Before long the two were talking story whist walking under the rail tracks and through onto thick sand.

"They saw a 10 foot shark here yesterday"
"no kidding"
"yeh, there are plenty of sightings here, nothing to worry about though."
"guess not eh", the man replied bravely.

In a clearing they suited up and could begin to see faint outlines of surfers turning, correcting and zipping along the clean lunges of water.

"It looks real good"
"yeh it's been firing the last four days, didn't think it'd still be on", mumbled Harris.

The man stumbled around in the dark whilst Harris threw up a heartfelt prayer and ran off into the boulder strewn surf. The rolling of the rocks in the shorebreak was like a well rehearsed mantra, it caught the mans attention and he stopped just shy of the water to think on the sound.
In all his travels he had wandered 'how did i arrive here?' Just as the old familiar phrase came to him he decided to sit and stretch a while;

"I still haven't moved that van" he pondered.
"It got me here, i suppose, and now i'm on the beach at five thirty in the morning, looking at perfect lefts and rights. Whaddya know, here comes some light...did he say 10 foot..."

In the lineup men clambered over eachother for the best waves. For the most part there was cautious respect between the surfers. It is a common thing among idle men to talk of useless things.
The talk here, between waves, was of Jack's party the other night or "you got that new boat out for a run bro?", "Dude! you shoulda seen us fly"...and the like.
Then a set of waves come and all is washed away by the potential rush of riding water.

Five pelicans hover in perfect formation just feet above the wave, meanwhile a floundering body of humans fight over the one peaking wave. The man has taken a few sneaky rides and feels thankful to have even witnessed this crazy event. He uses 'mind over matter' to drag his beaten shoulders and arms to shore. Waits another thirty minutes for Harris and then they make the long journey back to the car. The sun now menacingly high.

"I surfed 'The Wedge' the other day, 25 foot"
"you're a nutbag" said the exasperated man
"it's only good to surf when it's that big"
"yeh right..."
"well, i did have to get rescued but got some good photos.."
"i bet"...water and food was all the man could fit into his thoughts.

Fatigued and sore the man found his way to the living room floor.
He thought about his age and how it really is no excuse. He questioned why he felt guilty to sleep at midday on a thursday. Thoughts quickly turned to dreams and across from the tracks he heard the hound moan, willing him, urging him on.

Master & Friend

There were five minutes between first nodding off and the knock on the window. Startled, he looked up to see a security guard holding a piece of paper in one hand and a stern finger in the other. The stern finger suggested the guard wanted to discuss something.

"You can't park that vehicle here with that for sale sign on it ya know"...
"No, no i didn't", he said still half asleep.
"Well, i've written out this ticket of warning, you'd best be on your way"
"Right, sorry i didn't realise, i was just leaving now".
"oh alright, well i'll tear up the ticket, now you know though."
"Righteo, thanks", he said relieved.
"guess i won't be getting much time to sleep in this mall", he thought to himself.

Driving on and out of the park the man considered perhaps he'd been let off. The Mexican's hadn't called about buying the car and he figured it best to gun it toward San Diego in order to sell his bounty. At least that way he would be at his destination and not stuck 300 miles out.

A call came through. Jason, says there's a place with 20,000 people and a good place to hang and sleep. An interesting concept to the man, he thought it would be a huge summer festival. He was close to getting it right but nowhere near 'getting it right' at the same time.
Isla Vista is not a festival, per se, more of a party town for rich college kids. They look for freedom in escapism and in eachother. The outcome is late nights, loud house music and backyards filled with empty beer cans and wounded egos. Not wounded for long though.

The man wanders what has led him to this place. He knows there's been a spirit guiding his every move, he's wafted along and found community in the strangest of places. He's gathered peace in the most restless and violent of streets. Two prophets gave him words, a hybrid seed, a pasture being cultivated and prepared. He'd heard this kind of thing before, yet the shivers it gave told him he should pay careful attention.
He Listens.

Down in San Diego, a three legged hound barks short breathless noises. Calls for the man, wills him to venture on. He's learning about obedience so he collects his things, packs the van and points south once again. A servant to his Master and Friend.

Malls 'n' Dawgs

A lone man rolls into a town called Santa Barbara, he's just spent the last month meandering down the West Coast of Oregon and Northern California. The 1984 Chev van is tired after another long day on the 101 and grounds to a halt under the shade of a mall tree.
The man steps out of the blue bonaventure and is greeted by two young mexican gardeners in a golf buggie.
He is perplexed, 'what have i done this time'.

"Sweet Van", says the smaller man.
"Thanks"
"you sell this?"
"yeh"
"how much you asking gringo?"
"a grand i guess"
"hmm" ponders the taller man.
"800!" he suddenly says.
"aww i wanted at least 950 mate"
"hmmm" they ponder in unison.

After lengthy discussions the Mexicans take his number and wish him a good day.
The man decides he needs coffee, though his money is running low he knows he can order an americano on the budget he has. He needs time to think. Some clarity would be good.
'If i sell the van, i have money and my boots. Only LA and the surrounding desert stands between me and a plane flight'.
'If i don't sell the van, yeh, i'll point it toward Mexico and go tonight'...he considers.

The van he acquired in Portland is a dirty shade of blue, no rust but plenty of age within it's mechanics. He had gotten it for a steal from an ex navy man who was tired, just generally tired. Tired in an American sense and done with it. Perhaps some of that feeling was sold with the van as it had crept in to the man's mind at various times. Perhaps.

His journey had been full of interesting folk from many orientations and as he thought back on it he felt thankful and comforted on the journey that lay ahead.
So he sits drinking the 'Americano' in a paper cup thinking faraway thoughts and wandering about the dog with three legs and just how long can one sleep in a shopping mall carpark for.

The Oyster and the Elk

The Wild Elk lay like old Italian men at 2pm on a monday afternoon. Redwood forests, full of Giants and Bigfoots, were like a slow blur as Mazzy Star kept the old van running up and down mountain ranges.

It had been three and a half hours of mild weather and open road. I pulled over to stretch the legs and buy a beer and chicken sammy. The strawberry blonde behind the counter blew a bubble , chewed and said in her most uninterested tone, "why'd ya choose the one dirty table in the whole place?"
I smiled my most uninterested smile and said, "i can move if you'd like", she disappeared.
After posting some green form off to the department of border security for a breach of some kind on my last visit to the US i boarded the Bonaventure and pointed south.

The sudden change in weather was like a punch in the guts and it was now i knew i was out of Northern California and into the heat of mid Cali coast. Yet there was no coast to welcome me just a group of hippies who wanted to take me, my bus and guitar captive for an unspecified length of time. Instead i chose a comfy cafe, banana smoothie and the modern comfort of typing on my computer. What a cop out, but hell i knew it would turn out better this way. I love hippies but i'm just not that committed to the cause, plus i come from a family with a heightened sense of smell.

It's been a steady progression this degradation of beauty. Never has it been so evident than when i drove out of the Giant redwood forests of Oregon/North California and into Civilisation where flat tyres, fuel prices, street beggars, and a Target store stood by a beautiful Salmon river. Here i am, part of the mess, flying by with it all as my oyster.

My friend Keison and his band letting me sit in on a few...great guys and a very enjoyable night somewhere in Japan 2005.
Photo taken by Tadashi Yaguchi

my traveling companion for the coming months sojourn down the west coast of Oregon and California. The 'Bonaventure'.