|© Shawn Mayes 2019|
My bud Shawn is one of my oldest friends. He sent me this picture recently from one of his tropical journeys. He wished I was there. Me too, Shawn. Me too.
He left for Thailand over twenty five years ago for six weeks and never came back. Well maybe once for a visit. Left his Avanti in my back yard. Told me to sell it. I subsequently lost the key and the title. Oops. Now nature has basically reclaimed it.
Shawn is a very productive man and a very talented artist, if I remember correctly, he was schooled at the Art Institute of Chicago. We used to play at the beach a lot with our little tribe, lots of frisbee and good times. Made hanging out and chilling into an art form.
He says that he has become very good with the disc after all these years in the tropics, having myself once been a really good freestyle player, I will reserve judgement until I get the chance to see him play one day. But in any case he is very fit and could run circles around me quite easily at this point.
Lost another forty year friendship recently and very unfortunately. Shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have been so honest. You learn that some relationships can only exist in certain environments. Really bums me out.
I dreamt about Shawn the other night. I was in Encinitas or Leucadia but not the one that exists today. The great Encinitas of the early seventies. The Daily Bread. Before the money and the Orange County moved in. Before the Lumberyard when we still had the A&W on the cliff and the Hobbit Houses. Before blow and the BMW's.
Before the soulless, lot line hugging, mega monstrosities moved in. When we rarely ventured east of the Interstate 5. Life was mellow and people were friendly and kind.
Country Surfboards and Sattwa and the I Street Cafe. Evelyn and Gail. Danny Dolphin and People's Food in Solana Beach. La Paloma bookstore. The Old Time Cafe. The Leucadia Flea. It was all a little bit of heaven.
I went back to that place on this somnolent journey. It was a balmy early morning and Shawn beckoned me down to the beach on a path between some unrecognizable buildings for a swim.
Being merely a dream, my brain was granted some creative license. Tall spires of earth protruded from the ocean and reflected the apricot hued light of the morning sun. The water was unnaturally warm and it felt like the dawn of the world. Like swimming in birth fluid, our beings flooded with intense joy.
I woke, sad to leave the exquisite sensation of feeling like the world was new. And remembered a real life event that I believe happened in 1977. Maybe March. Shawn, Ricardo and I had been up at Winterland in San Francisco tripping around one week and our bodies and brains were scrubbed clean and full.
|Agnes Pelton - Orbits, 1934|
And we culminated the return of our journey by walking in formation to the bluff of their house on Neptune, overlooking Stone Steps, the place where Shawn hung mobiles of dried roses and Ronald used to skateboard inside in the living room, and as a final chapter of our cosmic grail quest we looked down at the water, facing the setting sun.
And like a Vegas choreography, or a page scripted at the beginning of time, three dolphins jumped up in the air towards us in perfect symmetry, matching our own psylosibic triad and the cetaceans on either end peeled perfectly left and right in crescendo and we somehow knew that things were exactly as they should be.