Black Sand

There must be something wrong with me… as I suddenly find myself at a continuing loss of words… a great big loss of words.

I think mostly I am just watching and listening and waiting… in a statis… trying hard not to give influence and pressure, trying hard not to effect the experiment anymore than I already have. But also trying to hold on tightly.

On occasion, I will have conversations in the open on a deeply personal topic. But the person with whom I speak thinks I am talking about something extremely mundane… and amazingly… the advice I get is often applicable.

Anyway… but then there are also a great many unsaid things… moments of complete and utter confusion that I just leave alone because the confused have gone to another page unphazed by the vast discrepancies… while I am already intimately familiar with the novel, cover to cover, and I know how the story will end and how the story will end. Nobody likes a spoiler.

There are precious moments of clarity, but mostly deeply confused and obscured depths of uncertainty. A murky pool of uncertainty that I must learn to swim in and who’s unseen creatures tug at my naively flapping feet and their futile attempts to kick… and kick… and kick… and scream. Uncertainty and its minions: how have I become so familiar with this family of demons.

C’est la vie, quand on essaie de vivre.

And the black sand is so precious and rare… but because it is warm and reminds one that with time, the once harsh earth is made softer by the caress of the ocean. But geological timescales are too long. And this is unsustainable.

Las Canarias

Arrecife, Spain — The small island of Lanzarote lies in a chain of islands called the Canary Islands, or to emphasize their nationality (Spanish) Islas Canarias. Las Canarias, as I will hereafter refer to the island group, lie off the northwestern coast of Africa, a short hop to Morocco, and a 3-4 hour flight to mainland Spain. 

The islands emerged from the Atlantic ocean via a series of fissures in the Earth’s crust that formed volcanoes which then formed the islands. One is constantly reminded of this origin by the abundance of black sand beaches and polished volcanic rocks that pave the small streets and sidewalks,  accent houses and innudate the souvenir shops. A friend related a story about the non-volcanic sand beaches that dot Las Canarias. These beaches are artificially created to appease the European tourists who are accustomed to white sand beaches. The sand is brought over from the Sahara and in an early instance the sand came with a large number of African scorpions! 

After tourism and beaches–sans scorpions these days–Las Canarias boast a strong affinity for the islands’ darks skies and have a few of the premier European telescopes. These telescopes are ultimately the reason I am here, however twice removed. The telescopes mean astronomers live here and often host conferences, one of which I have just attended. Of course, with the work all done, for the next few days I am on vacation, starting on the island called Lanzarote. Over the next few days I will travel across this island and report the things I come across or the things that come across my mind. 

Today I have spent the day and evening in the seaside town of Arrecife. The city center is a maze of narrow and winding streets lined with houses and shops, many of the buildings are painted white with green window frames and doors and inlays of those ubiquitous black stones of lava. Today I set out on these streets during the local siesta. Hence the streets were completely empty. Nothing is open and, save for a howling wind, nothing is making a sound. The city has become a ghost town.    

Occassionally the wind rattles the metal gates covering the shop windows giving the temporary expectation that the siesta has ended and the city is opening for afternoon business. It is this wind that has driven me into the city center and it’s winding streets. Previously, I was walking along the coast but the wind was too violent, changing directions at will and blasting my face and eyes with sand. Through the city streets I am searching for a laundromat. I know it won’t be open now or today, but I will make note of it’s location for tomorrow. I cannot see very far down these winding streets so I am blindly led by my somewhat randomly selected path. When I come upon cross-streets, they offer an appealing and immediate alternative to my current direction, but it only takes a moment to see it will be more of the same, so I stick to my chosen path. 

Even here, seemingly sheltered by the winding roads and abundance of buildings, the wind manages to find me. One moment it is at my back, driving me forward on my path, and the next it slows me down, pushing on me from ahead. On one cross-street, the wind seems to encourage a turn. Fickle this wind is not, determined perhaps, or maybe even confused, but not fickle.  Definitely stubborn!  A property which we both share, it with it’s strength and I with my aimless but pointed direction. 

NumbLucid

This is probably the hardest thing I have ever experienced and somehow the most beautiful and pure. I weep at the sight of pillows in disarray on my sofa and the throw hanging haphazardly. Signs of a few days ago when everything was immediate and the future seemed so distant. How does one close so prematurely the best chapter of one’s life? What comes next but a series of succesive failures and persistent heartache? Why does the inspirational drive that sprung from the throes of love abandon me so suddenly? I have never drunk to become numb. It was always only a side effect. But now I see the appeal. Perhaps he drinks so much because he misses her, as with me, tonight, when I found her sitting two feet from me, but far enough to miss her terribly.    

Maxwell’s Non-verbal Cues

I am, at times sluggishly, traveling through a dense tangle of non-verbal cues. Some are honed towards me and no matter how hard I whack with my carefully sharpened machete I cannot clear a path. This is understandable, for in this case, it is prohibited that the cues should give way and reveal the final destination. Ultimately, the circumstances require that I have only a one-sided romance. And to expect any reassuring words would be crossing a line. I am not owed anything. So I am left to wonder at the multiple possibilities. Some of which cause bouts of extreme joy, while others send me into the depths of despair and incredible self-doubt.  And here enter the non-verbal cues directed towards others, which, as I scientist, I can’t help but recognize. And these cues discourage me and fuel my self-doubt. It is odd how so few of these confidence-crushing cues can erase so many of the confidence-boosting cues. I would say, “c’est la vie” but perhaps there is a way I can exert control on the acceptance and denial of these fluctuations. Violate the second law of thermodynamics. Reverse the irreversible.

Oh, there they are…

…with a sinking feeling. My inability to act. My confusion. The confusion. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! The insistence on sad songs. The insistence on sad songs played aloud on my iPod which is resting on my chest driving the tune into my heart. The faux pas, the double entendre, the mixed message, the terror of uncertainty. The terror of uncertainty. The songs for a blue guitar. The intention of cramming a lifetime into a few weeks. Of stealing a moment of bliss. The millimeter between im·pro·pri·e·ty. The moment everything changed. The weather-worn bench. Sycamores. Childhood. The four words I never expected to hear and the terror of uncertainty they instilled. The terror of uncertainty. The unraveling of a well-manicured thread. Losing the thread. Cutting the thread in a foolish moment of rationality. A foolish moment of ra·tion·al·i·ty. The impact of our actions on others. Others and their promises. My ideal. The ideal. Every time I clink our drinks was and will forever be a moment I want to kiss you. Santé     Santé     Santé.