Two Hearts part two

The day came when there would be no work. We predicted rain and hail the next day. Regardless of how it looked when we woke up there would be no work. Kip and I planned a trip to the coast to free up our minds. We wanted to see the expansive pacific and maybe remind ourselves how small our problems were. I brought a frozen bottle of mushroom tea for myself and Kip if he wanted- to reinforce it all. We nestled into our trailer the night before. I had finally found a heater and we drank red wine in the warmth of our new comfort. We laughed and mused about our near future. Maybe we would work together the whole summer and keep bees and brew meade and tend a garden together. It would be idyllic times, there was no doubt about that. We were becoming settled in a small established off-the-radar community called Yaklima in southern Oregon. Everyone here seemed to have a niche that they carved out for themselves. There were numerous practical and homey communes hidden in the forested hills of the siskyious. There were people here interested in what we were wanting to learn and they were willing to teach. Their kids had all grown up on the communes and now lived in paris or washington and were republicans and businessmen. Who would inherit their land? Maybe their kids would and turn it into developments, maybe we would.

In the middle of the night Kip awoke, unable to sleep. He tossed and got out of bed. "I'm going for a walk" he said knowing he had woken me. I grumbled into my pillow and said "bring your phone". I woke up at dawn as my phone vibrated and realized he was still out. I answered it and on the other line he said "I'm somewhere on Rock Dole Road." "You're still walking?" I replied. "Yeah" and he hung up. I thought maybe he needed some help but quickly went back to sleep. At ten AM I woke up officially and checked my phone. No missed calls. I gave Kip a ring wondering what he was doing. No one answered but he returned my call shortly after. Had he passed out in the woods somewhere? He said he was in the laundromat in town. He had walked at least ten miles during the night. I remembered the rain now that was pattering against the roof as he called me at dawn. How nice it feels to feel sad sometimes. At a leisurely pace I packed a small bag for us both and headed off towards town. This was our day to go to the coast. I pulled into the laundromat and waited. I sent him a text saying I was outside but he didn't come. I could have just went inside I'm sure but without any laundry to do I would have felt foolish. What was he doing in there? There was a shower.

He called me and said he was on their computer and he was chatting with his girlfriend trying to work out some kinks. We ate breakfast at the closest thing they have to a shitty diner here- a very shitty country style restaurant. I think he ate half of one of his two plate-sized pancakes and I ate my hash-browns and poached eggs with hot sauce and jam.

The road to the coast is windy like a snake and it runs along the smith river. The smith is the color green like an emerald. The serpentine minerals that fill the earth in that area provide the color and they also create a toxic habitat in the rocks where most plants can't or won't live. Only certain plants are suitable to live in that habitat and those that can, like the carnivorous california pitcher plant, won't survive anywhere else.

We passed through the redwoods and descended down to sea level. We listened to an impromptu playlist I put together about heartbreak and travel. Townes Van Zandt, Robert Johnson, Graham Parsons, Loudon Wainwright.

Days full of rain
skys comin' down again
I get so tired
of the same old blues
same old song
Baby, it won't be long
till I be tyin' on
my flyin' shoes
flyin' shoes
till I be tyin' on
my flyin' shoes

The road quickly spat us out on a bluff overlooking the ocean and we smiled and hugged and put our raincoats and gloves on and I drank what of the tea had melted on our way. We ran down a steep two hundred yard long sandy bank and stumbled onto the rocky beach panting. Huge boulders jut out of the break and there were more further off like breaching whales caught petrified for all time; their huge backs the size of small islands. I felt the small confusion in the back of mind beginning to be magnified and felt slightly queasy and unsure of my feet. Kip wandered off to be by himself and I climbed out onto the rocks. There was a mossy peak I wanted to sit on. I crossed a rushing tidal stream that grew foamy and unpassable with each coming wave. The rock was slimy and cold on my hands. At the top of the peak there were succulent flowers and the shell of a crab eaten by sea birds. I sat up there and watched the many layers of waves wash into the shore. I thought hurriedly about what conclusions I should draw. I briefly gave credit to my concerns about the tide coming in and being trapped by the desire not be wet and cold from crossing the too high stream. I tried to find some calm somewhere within me but the more I pursued the idea the more it eluded me. I decided to keep moving and crossed back to more solid ground. Kip had returned and we both climbed a large boulder and drank some water. It was cold and refreshing and sent a shiver through my body. I felt like a wilted plant perking up. We sat and looked at each other and talked about his girlfriend. "Maybe you're right," he said "maybe I just have to let our relationship change. Maybe it would be better to let it be more open. More free."

"Maybe, Kip. Maybe."

"I can forgive her."

"I know you can." I said "but how many more times is this going to happen? Its not the first."

"I know."

We stood and hugged again. No matter how much I really care I can't help but take a little pleasure in the failures of my friends.

"Let's build something." he said

"Alright."

We walked over to a stump that had some driftwood leaning up against it. We began moving things and stacking and leaning this and that. Kip continued with some distant goal in mind while my mind drifted off to other things and my body soon followed. Slowly I wandered off from the project and laid on the warm rocks. I did not know what to do with myself but I had stopped trying to figure it out. I found my hands grabbing rocks and laying them on top of me. One on my forehead, one on each palm and some down my midsection. I felt grounded and without so much indecision. I laid there for several minutes feeling the weight off gravity upon me. I sat up rolling all the stones off of me and grabbed some more. I beat them on the driftwood and made rhythmic patterns. I drew a cryptic cave drawing on a large flat stone with a white chalky rock and grabbed a wet red rock. I held it in my hand and it was soft. It looked just like a human heart-how one really looks. It was part pink and part tan and pale. It meant something to me. The heart symbol had been coming up again and again lately but besides its relation to love and health I struggled to come to any epiphanies. I flipped it to Kip who confirmed it did indeed look like a heart. He tossed it back and I noticed a black stone hidden under a nearby piece of driftwood. The black stone stood out so much that I was shocked how I had not noticed it before. This stone was practically throbbing just a few inches from my foot and it had gone unnoticed. I held a stone in each hand. They both looked like hearts- one black and evil one red and warm. I stared deeply into the black heart and could not look away. It was large and powerful. There was a cobra’s head was swaying about; as if it was trying to put a charm on me. The red heart was confident and quiet. It warmed my hand and reassured me that goodness is real, but that evil must be also. It occurred to me then that these were good rocks and that they held power. They were sacred objects relict from a time when good and bad shone more defined. If they did not contain the powers I felt then they at least would remind me of them. I should keep them. They would travel with me. But what would I need the black heart for? The question occurred to me in direct opposition to my desires. I needed this black stone but I could not reason why. It was a sign of maliciousness. It made me feel powerful, but at some great expense yet unknown. There was a tyranny in it that was uncaring and demure. But maybe I should keep it just to remind myself of the dichotomy. It would remind me that evil is real. That there is a dark and a light. I was strong enough to keep it without it depleting me. I would keep it under my bed and never bring it out unless I needed it. I could handle it I mused.

The red heart sat there unmoving and self-assured. It spoke not in silence but like the evergreens not with words either. I realized then that I would have to make a decision. The red heart was coming with me. It would be a token of the adventure, of one of the far too few times I spent with Kip. It would be a power source when I was weak and hollow. The red heart brought some steadfastness to my self-exploration. I was a child of heart. But the cobra . . . it’s allure was so daunting. It’s power was so convincing and demanding. How could I just throw something like that into the ocean? How many chances does one get like this? How many power objects does one find that embody the mysticism and magic of the mischievous, the dark underbelly of the world- and this was a key. The bloody heart in it’s stolidness and benevolence said “throw it, throw it”. I could hear it talking to my chest completely bypassing my logical brain which sought only to find a reason for keeping the evil stone. I heard “get rid of it”. I struggled. It is possible to overcome the evil and harness both the good and the bad. Could I choose the path of good and still hold onto the relic of evil? I had the ring of power in my hand and the universe was waiting for me to make a decision. I held the petrified black heart in my hand for a moment longer and bit my lip and tossed it as far as I could out to the water. It splashed along the edge of the break and it was gone- sunken beneath the hoary water.

I immediately felt a weight lifted and an easy joy come to me. I smiled. I looked at Kip struggling to lift some last piece of driftwood into place among his intricate rock stacks and colorful fan of arranged debris. I ran over to help him and as we got the last few pieces in place Kip smiled and said “Happy Thanksgivin old boy!”. I stepped back and it was a turkey! He had made a driftwood turkey the size of a mini cooper on the beach. What a guy. We took a few minutes to admire the bird and with the clouds rolling in again and light rain beginning we decided to get going.

I went and shook the hands of a couple important plants and said goodbye to the stream trickling down the hillside. They each replied in their own dignified way and smiled.

We drove back home to our cozy trailer a bit more confident in whatever decisions we would make. The rain grew heavy and we turned the music loud singing Bob Dylan numbers the whole way home.

Don't the moon look good, mama,
Shinin' through the trees?
Don't the brakeman look good, mama,
Flagging down the Double Es?
Don't the sun look good
Goin' down over the sea?
Don't my gal look fine
When she's comin' after me?