After realizing that she was not in Kansas anymore, my
recollection is that Dorothy said “ there is no place like home” and ended up
back in a comfy bed. That movie brought
home to my four year old mind the understanding that people’s imaginations (and
their dreams) could be really, really weird.
For that matter, people in general could be really, really weird . But this understanding actually brought
strange comfort against the odd and distressing thoughts that affected my
childhood mind, with the realization that dreams could be really cool.
A really good dream-state is actually inspired by unsettling
events. I have this theory that the
truly baad shit is not helpful to a good dream state. For example experiencing
loved ones suffer terrible injuries or dying, or imminent bankruptcy or
divorce, these things do not lead to a good dream state because they are simply
too fucked up and distressing. Once you
are at “ fight or flee” nothing good comes out of the examination of the
subconscious mind. But lessor types of
stressor events can be absolutely fabulous dream inducers. So an important observation out of this trip
is that the sweet spot for a good dream state is a bad anchorage. And even better is an anchorage that starts
out as sunny idyllic bliss and that wakes you up in the middle of the night out
of deep REM.
For you land crabs, a pale facsimile of the experience can
be achieved by chugging a few beers and falling to bed without bathroom. You will wake in the night with the
conflicting desire to continue sleeping and the increasingly urgent and
inevitable need to get up and pee. Just
before the pee there are often great dreams.
For young men there is also something called a “woody”. In either case, coming out of the dream state
there is a need for immediate action.
Leaving La Paz after a week of lazy reading, writing and
drinkmanship, we first stopped for lunch and snorkelling at Ballandra Cove, the
site of the famous rock-formation mushroom.
Onwards in our self-indulgence we proceeded to Caleta el Candeleros on
Isla Espiritu Santo. This a truly
beautiful bay of outcropping rocks bridled by gorgeous white sand beaches. At land on all sides there are steep and
crumbling rock falls, grown over with tall cacti, and natural caves high above,
surely inhabited in ancient times by native peoples. Proof given by the tell-tale sign of a large sea-shell midden
near the north beach. A short hike from the beach takes you past an
abandoned water well and then to a rock amphitheatre where ancient mystics no
doubt imbibed peyote and absorbed all the important effervescences of the human
condition.
Concluding our lovely day, in calm dead air and with boat
fully protected from north, east and south, we fell to an early and
well-deserved bed. But at sea the wind
blows from all ways, and if you assume west is out of the question, from there
will it blow - never in the day of course; adverse wind comes always in the
dark of night. Also in the category of
adverse to a boat swinging at anchor is a large mega-yacht that spoils lonely
bayside bliss by arriving late in the afternoon and anchoring closely.
That night while we were channelling the ancient mystics
with wild and psychedelic dreams, the dark was interrupted by the foreboding
sound of wind moaning in the rigging, combined with excessive wave bouncing in
our forepeak sleeping quarters. Crap. Wake up, get up and look around. Bloody hell, the monster yacht is dragging
down on us, lights ablaze. Are they awake? Quick Alice, the air horn! Five short blasts means collision imminent,
so five they get. A small army of white-clad
crew scurried to action and we watched as monster yacht yanked hook and bugged
out of the anchorage. I have to tell you
that giving that big-ass boat five horns felt almost as good as one of those
fabled morning woodies.
The next day after snorkelling among the rocks (and some
disappointing intentionally sunken concrete sculptures) and seeking less
boisterous anchorage in westerly winds, we relocated to nearby Caleta Partida.
The night there was calm, stress was low and dreams not so vivid. This was a
good thing as Peyote every night, after all, might be dangerous…
Greg
Loading up in La Paz.
Rock sculpture at Balandra.
Isla Espiritu Santo
An abandoned well.
Our boat on the right.
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