moving

I think my mind broke the other day. All by itself.

I was on the Bob Jones Trail in Avila Beach on the central coast of California. I was much of the way back from one end to the other. Out of the woods, which is most of it and includes a vast area of Coast Live Oaks, big and gnarly and curvy and which I’ve been convinced from the beginning dance wildly in the middle of the night when no humans are around and end up back where they started by dawn, though maybe moved a fifteenth of an inch or so – if anyone bothered to check.

So I’m out of the woods in the area that runs alongside the San Luis Obispo Creek, the section that has reeds like cat ‘n nine tails. I happen to glance to my left and a tall piece of grass on the bank closest is slowly swaying in the breeze, and – bang! – I see it completely. There’s nothing else. That’s when my mind broke. Every single thing in the world was exactly in tune with everything else, working exactly perfectly.

I haven’t been able to shake it. I haven’t wanted to. My teacher says, “Move on.”