Beach Magic

A very short picture story filled with medicine

by

Yvonne Mokihana Calizar

I was in need of a vacation yesterday. Some very very VERY big adult stuff had passed through the dreams, and out into the Precession. The New Moon in gogogo Aries was defining my mood, offering up, 'Boring' as a description. I felt the irritation, the tightened skin ness the itching feet ness. I shouted to him "I need a vacation." He tried to soothe her, "Your life is a vacation!" 

Explanation wouldn't help, I knew that. When he went out to play in the dirt, I went back to sleep, woke at near noon, and started my day over. I took myself to the water's edge, and later -- while truly 'on vacation' -- me and the little one had a time like this ...

The picture tucks into the cold steel beam, silent as the night, trying to be quiet. But, of course, some nights are meant for magical journeys, vacation time with all the right pay a yearning to be where the child can really play.

 A bit of sand came home with her, evidence. Out from the clam shells they sprinkled onto the stilled beach. "Remember your roots!" the glittery grains could not contain their jolliness.

 The girl in the photograph had come to play and that was the pleasure of Beach-ness maximized. 

The Others crept closer, wondering how they could join in the silliness. Story messages imagined the path, considered how to become part of both sides of the world. How to slip through the slot between definitions, between time and solidness?

"Ah, clever Beach Stones! Your secret is safe with us. We will return again and again to play at all ages, all stages." Until next time. 

#2 The Safety Pin Cafe: Deep Imagining

"I think there's a tremendous loss of imagination in current culture—not just in the West but in other parts of the world as well. Any artist—a painter, a musician, a writer, a film maker—in some way is helping people to reconnect with their deepest imagination. And the imagination is where vision and healing and creativity live. The challenges we face in society today are so immense, so challenging, that we need that untamed, unbridled imagination to help us think outside of the box, to give us new solutions and ideas for how to live. At its best, any art form can do that." -From an interview with Gail Straub*

My hat drooped with rain that puddled into miniature ponds. I laughed out loud to see the ducks swimming at my feet. They so love my company, but really "They don't usually come in doors." The smells were divine and before my laughter settled a tall silver-haired Raven with splendid garb and lovely hands appeared. He wore glasses and spoke with a cultured tone. Obviously schooled in etiquette for tea he said sweetly, "This way, please," and with no further protocol I felt his one gloved hand gently on my elbow. "The Lady has ordered for you." A plate of fine bone china, only slightly chipped but sparkling clean was arranged with cinnamon toast cut into stars and moons and ... ducks. I inhaled with my toes and sent the cinnamon out my fingertips. "May I take your hat and shawl," the Raven said in his deep and almost drawling speech. He pointed to a hat stand near the cozy heater with kitties of all colors nestled on the sills nearby. "They love paisley," his golden eyes twinkled, laugh lines drawing into landscapes of places I could love. I think he was flirting with me. Yes, I'm sure he was flirting. The Lady watched us. She sipped from her teacup and when the Raven flew through the open Dutch-door the Lady stood.

"I do hope you enjoy a splash of vanilla from the bean in your hot milk," my company gestured to the chair near her own. As I pulled the chair out to sit, the sound of wings raised my head. "Hot milk and vanilla." A bundle dangled from his beak suspended from a copper safety pin. Delft as a pastry chef Raven unwrapped his parcel to reveal a blue mug the color of pale summer skies. Steam rose and clouded his spectacles. "Small price to pay for delivery," again with the laugh lines where I saw white sandy beaches and turquoise ocean rippling. Finally it was my turn to speak, "They're my favorite things to eat and drink on a soggy day. No question! Thank you both. Thank you both so very much."

We sat and drank our hot milk. I warmed my fingertips which were by now a bit wrinkled from the damp. "No never-mind though," I thought of the silver-haired Raven who was now busy flirting with other customers walking in leaving puddles of ducks in the entry. The cinnamon was sprinkled with just the smallest glitter of sugar that still crackled as I took a bite from the tip of an especially tantalizing star. The smooth salty butter melded the flavors to perfection. Hungrier than I'd imagined I bit and bit till there were no stars left. Then, before my milk grew tepid I dunked the moon and savored it till my belly hummed.


There's more story here.