Yesterday an artist friend invited me and others to her space in the ICB building in Sausalito to make a book. The historic Industrial Center Building is by the bay and driving there is a return to the past, to a place where ships were made during World War II. I made my way past an array of artist’s studios as I climbed the stairs to the third floor and her studio with a view.
The book I made is a sweet little thing in blues and greens, 2 inches by 3, with a shell glued like a golden light to the front. A young girl across from me made a book and filled hers with drawings. Mine is still blank, waiting, as perhaps I wait, for the next call.
I sit here now realizing that if everyone had access to paints and pens, paper and a floor made colorful with unintended drops in patterns, abstract with no need to clean up, we would all find our way to peace.
Walking with my book over to the bay, I passed fragrant and colorful roses, then sat with seals and cormorants. Even more refreshed and renewed, I walked over to Fish and bought fresh, sustainable halibut which Steve grilled after making a sauce of tomatoes, basil, and Parmesan cheese. With a salad and a bottle of Chardonnay, we shared a grateful feast, a once in a lifetime grateful feast. It will never be repeated, never again, not like that.
Life is changing for so many I know, death a metronome. Be here. Be here now. As Thich Nhat Hanh says: The path is peace. Be peace.
This Sunday morning I look out to a ridge cloaked in fog, beckoning resonance with ease.