Sacred Land

It’s a sunny winter day. Riding my bike along the gorgeous coastline of Big Sur. The light this time of year has a unique quality; great dark rocks rise from the ocean, super crisp against the deep blue ocean. Blue sky, soft streaks of clouds get cut off by a dramatic line of dissolving white fluff a silent commercial jet plane leaves behind.

As I lean into the curve on my Suzuki Katana 750, a wide wing bird takes a deep dive to its pray. I hear the sound of the waves crashing the cliffs mixed with the Katana’s engine as I twist the handle to accelerate coming out of the curve.

After buying some fuel at Big Sur at almost double the price of Monterey, yet still half the price of a gallon at Esalen, I head back and stop at the bakery for a cup of coffee and a croissant. On the wooden bench in front of a long natural curved wooden table lay the New York Times. I read it front to back leaving only the sports section out, getting a sense of the whole entire world, I contemplate the place I am now.

Air strikes fly over Gaza, while I look over the peaceful mountains of Big Sur. People consider this land sacred. Others consider the land in Jerusalem to be sacred.
Here it seems people tend to the land and try to preserve it as much as possible because it is sacred. In Israel (or Palestine) people shed blood, for it is sacred.

“It is the ancient Indians that made this place sacred” told me a friend a few days ago. I assume they decided it to be sacred for the richness of the land, for the hot springs, and streams, for the Great Ocean, and dramatic coastline. Then, is it the beauty, the abundance or the intention of the people that make the land sacred? In Israel it seems to be memory; history, which is part of the past, religions that relay on the past as part of its presence. A connection to people that lived on that land, people that had rituals, experiences, lives and deaths on that land.
Can any land be sacred? Can I create a magnificent garden with a huge dramatic rock in the center and call it sacred, a place for people to come and worship peace? This place will be sacred to all, to anyone that wishes to be there in peace.

It seems to me that when one place is declared as sacred, it assumes another is not. Sacredness creates duality, a sense of priority over another.
Do I take care of Big Sur better than I take care of NY? Just because NY might host more greed, or might have more concrete, do I spit my gum on the sidewalk?

What if we treated all land as sacred? Took care of everything we see with care and respect. By not choosing, not taking sides; can there be more harmony, more equal care and understanding. Can we accept differences without needing to change, to control or project our point of view?

It starts with me, here at this table, accepting the SUV’s arriving to fill up their tanks, greeting them with the same warm hello I great the Prius Drivers.
I shall keep riding my motorcycle for now, even as the weather is getting colder as my own act of freedom, my own little contribution to reducing consumption of oil.

I bundle up for the ride back, grateful for the hot natural spring baths that await me at the end of the ride.

A day at the races

The sea of motorcycles that covered the earth that day had a fantastic exhilarating affect on my inner blood flow towards my brain and the muscles that pulled my lips towards my ears.

We parked my Katana 750 alongside some serious 1400cc Kawasaki monster, and headed towards the track. The sound of motors running at high rpm’s was speeding from one ear to another. What is it about these two wheelers hitting the curve, going sideways, knees scraping the earth that is so fascinating to so many people?
The Monterey peninsula, beautiful land, and some great curvy roads along highway 1 that draws bikers from all over the world to watch the grand Prix. This is the Formula 1 of the motorcycles” told me Carl earlier this weeks as he realized I had no idea about all this, even though I ride a bike as a main means of transportation.
Carl owns his own sporty yellow Italian two-wheeler, unlike my “rice cooker” as Fi would call it.
Jen and I drove out through the splendid curves of Highway 1 Saturday morning. That’s after Jen swore never to be on the bike with me unless it were in a foreign country.
So thanks Jen for the trust, and sorry for the scary moments.
Along the drive riders greet each other with a left hand wave (the right has to keep accelerating J). The hand goes down and by the side of the bike (less wind) either in a peace sign or as if to give a low five. It’s a great feel to be able to wave and receive hellos from people I have no idea who they are. Not only do I not know them, but also I can’t even see their faces. Are they young, old, Asian, nerdy, beautiful, almost hard to know if it’s a male or female.
After we got our fix of super sound and super speed, of crowd and a feel of a big fair, we drove down to quiet and quaint Carmel for Sushi Heaven. A little Japanese place that looks and feels like a local “Mama sun” in Kyusho (the south Island of Japan), a place I would go eat where the main woman behind the counter is like a mom to many needy customers.
I had to have a spicy tuna roll for Zohar’s sake, as that is all he would order if he were there by me.
It is really refreshing to eat out after being used to getting 3 meals a day at Esalen. Meals that I can count on being served at the same time and place every day, rich with options, including a huge salad bar, always an option for plain brown rice, raw veggies, and the surprise of the main dish the Chef has made for the day.
Back to the land of plenty where the kitchen gets its vegetables from the garden just a little stroll away, where my commute is a two-minute ride or a thirty-minute walk, I smile at the contrast of the races compared with the hot tubs.