a big, boisterous ball of flame

So much of living seems to be wrapped up in decoding facades, playing inspector gadget, looking for clues to everything's true meaning. The garage door opens, revealing a paradise beyond the fortress wall. Eventually, your love's true nature reveals itself. Lies and expectations can only be effective for so long.

"San Francisco is a city of secrets. Hidden tunnels, bricked up passageways, sunken ships, and rebuilt palaces. With our backfilled downtown, railcar tracks that lead into empty parking lots, and stairways that sneak you from one neighborhod to another, we are the Winchester mystery house of urban areas."




I don't have time for these games. I want the world at face value. It's more precious to me to spend that time learning to love more. But when something unexpected happens, it's depressing winding up back in the world of deceit.

Sadly, I got in a fight with my sweetheart this week, an unusual and deliberately avoided affair.

It's important to me to never fight. Anger is a toxin that once unleashed, is really difficult to navigate. And besides, like my grandfather says, "Don't say your sorry. Just don't do anything you have to apologize for later."

I mention this because my anger came from a space of vulnerability. Suddenly, the thing I spend all my energy protecting, disguising,  and sometimes denying, was in jeopardy of being squashed by another. 

Is Ambrose Bierce right? "Intimacy: A relation into which fools are providentially drawn for their mutual destruction."

When I was twenty-two, my boyfriend and I had decided that if we were still together in six months, we were going to get married and move to France. The day of this six month mark, he called me from a pay-phone to say it was over. He said, "you are like this bright, brilliant ball of flame in a valley of calm. You see it from afar and you want to run to it, be near it, warm yourself against it, until you realize that for it to burn that bright, it has to burn all that's around it."

I'm embarrassed to say that for years I let that effect me. Like most, I've spent time being mistreated, and because of that, I thought maybe he was right. That for me to be this awesome was somehow harmful to others. It wasn't until a few years ago that I got a new perspective on it. Yes, I'm a big, boisterous person, but I am damn careful not to take from others. 

This isn't to say that I'm a self-sustaining island, by any means; perhaps just aloof. But that too is for good reason. As long as I don't hurt anyone, I can't be hurt in return. 

What's the fun in that?

"Yet each man kills the thing he loves,

By each let this be heard;

Some do it with a bitter look,

Some with a flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss,

The brave man, with a sword."

Sad and blue, I was thrilled when my buddies invited me to go stay on one of their mom's property in Bolinas.

If you don't know how to get there, I'm not going to tell you. It's sad, but I've found myself in the Secret San Francisco club, in which, despite the point of this blog, I'm becoming tighter lipped about the rad things here. 

That said, this town is elitist as fuck. There aren't any street signs pointing you in it's direction. There is no city government, no mayor, and no Martha Stewart (they wouldn't let her move in). An exclusive counter-culture paradise, this place is mind-blowing.

First thing in the morning, Jesse took me to the cliffs, and instead of feeling like a burning ball of flame, I felt much more like the waves, crashing endlessly against the same rocks. Bolinas, in fact, felt like the geographical equivalent to my heart. The beaches were stunning in their natural element as well as covered in graffiti. The city itself was all white with tons of galleries. Each house was built independently of each other, creating a skyline so varied it would be impossible to describe. 

And much like my need for self-protection, this city has a history of reluctance and secrecy.

The bar here, Smiley's Schooner Saloon is the oldest, continuously operated bar in California. Nursing our hangover there, I looked up it's history. Opened in 1851 by Captain Isaac Morgan, it managed to survive the temperance movement of the 1860s. Post 1906 earthquake, business picked up as there was no competition (all the other bars had fallen into the ocean). During Prohibition, all the windows, but one, were covered. The one left open displayed a false interior: a barber shop had been created in one corner to disguise the drinking going on behind it. 

It's changed ownership and names, becoming John Redman's Saloon, Ed Knott's Bar, and when the Italian Ismael Biachini bought it, it became Smiley's Bar and Bait (offering fishing supplies post WWII).

Back at the cabin, Jesse checked in on his mom (her health is not the best), and it was interesting to see a friend on such intimate terms. According to his facade, I've thought him a gruff and grumble dude, and all of the sudden, here was this doting, gentle son, cooking and cleaning for his mom. 

"Let's shoot some guns."

He often talks about how you have to do everything for family. That protection is key. And though I feel like maybe he's a touch too offensive in this approach, at the time I could relate. No one likes an intruder. 

Since then, I've come to some conclusions. Because I spend so much time living and less time analyzing, I'm always the last one to pick up on the most obvious. I know I constantly go in search of beautiful things, but I do it out of a sense of need. I run faster and faster, not to escape, but in order to shirk the devil. I've felt so unlucky most of my life, that fear of it's inevitable catch up lights a fire under my ass. I don't burn what's around me; I'm fueled by the wind. 

And maybe it's all wrong. Maybe I need to take notes from the lighthouse. During storms, perhaps its best to stand tall and solid, sending a light through the dark. I have something deep and magnificent inside me, and it's not available for just anyone. But if you can navigate the terrain, go blindly in hunt of such a terrific landscape, I might just let you in.