The other side of the earthquake, and a great green sea.

Critter and I came home to rest a spell, after a few days chasing the sun up the coast and trying to track the elusive dan blocker, whose smile and soul alone could cut through this drape of pacific fog that hugged our hearts. We couldn't catch him, or the sun, but heard he wasn't far off and we could feel his spirit close , like the hum of a car waiting around the bend. It was quiet back in the house. I was downstairs, trying to find the courage to pay a few bills while Critter was sitting with some of my potted flowers upstairs on the patio. They talk up there, on my patio, whispering to each other...gossip mostly, small talk, as they try to keep their conversation out of ear shot of the big trees standing guard in my front yard. It is light fare, rumors and flower chit chat , literally about the birds and the bees. Sometimes i think Critter plays shrink to those flowers, coddling their precious pastel egos but what do I know. They clam up around me and seem to only smile when i water them. Critter isn't afraid of those trees (lightweights he says) but, since we have to pass them every day to get to the van or the ocean, no need to create any unnecessary trouble. The trees here get a little resentful of him anyway, he says, as they think he is a little snobby, having hailed from raw depth of Oregon forests. anyway, he was chatting them up and thinking about what kind of berry plate to fix for supper when we the hair on both of our necks stood straight, and when you are talking about critter, that is some serious hair to consider. the earth trembled, i shrieked, critter ran downstairs to stand near me, we both trembled and watched as dinner plates inched their way closer to death, followed by my clay coffee mugs and and an autographed picture of Joan Jett. And we trembled some more. 16 seconds I heard later.

And forgive me here for a second as most of the time I don't like to report on the mundane,recount stories you can hear anywhere, stories like earthquakes and who becomes president and which foods have more calories than others and the like. those aren't stories really, they are just mundane things, lifeless dusty rocks that anyone can pick of the road. stories you can only find if you move a few old books aside, open a notebook, or talk to that old lady down the street who scares you because sometimes she forgets to put her teeth in.

anyway, the earth finally stopped bending and I took a look around my kitchen to see everything more or less intact, except Critter. there was an even deeper sense of quiet about him that i had ever felt...he far more still than those trees out front and his eyes opened into a depth into which i was scared to go. being six feet from him almost felt too close, as if i would fall further than any height i had fallen in a dream.

"critter, you ok?"

"I am ok, but the earth just spoke. spoke in its loudest voice. to tell us we need to take care. to tell us we need to worship it and ourselves. to tell us we need to celebrate her and ourselves."

i have been hearing that kind of talk since my i went to that hippy pre-school as a kid, but never did i believe like i did coming from the a 9ft yeti in my kitchen.

"ok man, i am into it, what do we do"

" we leave now, we get out of santa monica and head for home stopping for nothing and for everything"

"home like oregon home?"

"yes, Matt, yes"

then we made some tea and he painted a picture of his home with words and not words, that looked a lot like the one I put up top this entry.

"far out, i am in, as always"