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The Journey to the West

Though we journey to the West We pray to the East More or less that's the way Each day begins and ends It’s a tale everyone ...

Sunday, July 29, 2012

To Point Reyes Station

Pulling into
Point Reyes Station
I thought to myself
Here where the Fault juts
Seaward is a place
Appositely inclined
To my own frame of mind
While also very much akin
To invisible features   
Of the ground underlying
Together giving rise
To an unshakeable sense  
Of karmic equivalence

Strolling down Main Street
I browsed the bookstore aisles
Hoping for guidance  
From a former resident scribe  
Yet none beckoned to me
From the shelves
Who had scribbled
Any closer than
Kesey north in Humboldt
Or Steinbeck down in Salinas
Leaving the most local of mysteries
Still waiting to be divined

Only a few hundred yards
Beyond the outskirts of town
Unmarked by a formal road sign 
Yet the topography could be read
As clearly as with map in hand
Right there where the fingertip
Of Tomales Bay cut inland
As signaling the occurrence
Of a change most profound

And from that point with eyes closed
I thought to venture further on
At less than snail’s pace
And forever affixed to this spot
Though by dint of the epochal
Migration of rock knowing
I was nonetheless destined
To end up in Portland
A hundred million years hence
Carried along by this very earth’s 
Inevitable heaving
As the Pacific coast itself
Slipped to the rear

Whether I stood on
An island or peninsula
It remained unclear
But gradually grinding north
Transported by an overpowering force
I made my way of necessity
To North America
In contra-position

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