Favorite Philosopher's Blog

I had a hard time pulling myself out of the ocean at the end of the afternoon yesterday. We were at San Onofre beach, which is a surfing beach.  I’m still not hip to the surfing terms, things like “low tide” and “high tide” and all those tidal stages in between the two.  I do know we arrived at low tide and watched the waves get bigger as the afternoon went on.

San Onofre is a long beach, and the waves just roll in from one end to the other.  Even when they got bigger they didn’t break until just on top of the shore – they actually started to break farther out and then kind of settled back down until they mushed into the sand without much fanfare.

I was bobbing around in that mellow section, occasionally having to dive through waves that seemed insistent on breaking – but then didn’t.  Mostly I just stood there, neck deep, letting the waves pull my feet off the ocean floor and then gently depositing me back on my feet.  Sometimes the wave had moved me enough towards shore that it deposited me on my butt, which in turn deposited sand in my swimsuit. Oh well, better get back out in the deeper water to clean it out.

This cycle went on for quite some time.  I have learned from experience not to wait until I am nearing exhaustion to get out of the water, so I reluctantly made my way to dry sand.  This morning, though, I am still feeling the effects of that primeval lullaby, rocking in the womb of our existence, the sweet oceans of earth.

When we used to come here camping with the boys, enjoying the beach always included knowing we had to pack up and leave.  There was that little voice in my head that said “make sure you are appreciating every second, because this is just a dream and Cinderella’s carriage will change back into a pumpkin.”   Somehow the Prince found my big ol’ foot and the glass slipper, amazingly, fit.

I’m thinking today that I may have to just blow off everything I “needed” to do today and go back for more blessings.

Next weekend: stand up paddleboard lessons in Dana Point Harbor.  Stay tuned for more of  “As Mary Turns Into SoCal Girl.”

And then there’s this, for which I have no words, only grief.

http://news.yahoo.com/navy-training-testing-may-kill-whales-dolphins-082418197.html

The war games at Camp Pendleton have been very active this week, driving the dog a little nuts pretty much all day.  There are loud noises that sound like what I imagine mortar fire to be and bombs in general.  There are helicopters circling occasionally.  They are way out there in the hills of Camp Pendleton but it has sounded very close and it is relentless, all day until even 11 p.m. at night.  Yesterday I honestly looked out the window and thought it was thunder.

Since living here in San Clemente, I have not been particularly bothered by the war games.  It is somehow grounding.  When I first felt a bit of annoyance about it, it very quickly occurred to me that in many parts of the world, these are not games.  There are men and women and children and babies who live with this noise, these threats to life and limb.  It is not an exercise for them. It does not end at midnight. It is a horrible fact of their circumstances.  So experiencing this on a daily basis, even though I am decidedly safe, somehow connects me to them.  I think about them.  I pray for them.  I hold them in my spiritual arms.

A few weeks back we were at a local wine and cheese bar with a woman who grew up here and who recently moved back because she missed it so terribly.  We got to talking about the war games, and I understood when she said she didn’t mind the war games noise.  She explained it better than I ever could.

She said, “We live here in paradise, it would be easy to forget the real world.” San Clemente is so beautiful, it is hard to describe.  The weather is what I consider to be perfect – not pure blue sky and sunshine every day, but something a little different every day, differences that only the ocean can provide.  So some days there is blue sky and warm, some days there is warm and overcast, some days it is a little cool with blue skies.  No matter, I am always refreshed and comfortable here. Going about one’s daily business, the ocean often comes into full view.  It is impossible to take it for granted, it is that spectacular.

She said. “The sounds of the war games keeps us in the real world.”  Whereas someone in a more remote enclave of beautiful southern California might begin to think that is the real world, we have a regular reminder that there is a world out there that is not perfect, that is the very opposite of stunningly beautiful every day,  is terrifying and bloody every day.

She said, “That is why, I think,  people in San Clemente are so down to earth and at peace with each other.”  There are wealthy people here to be sure, and there are beach bums, and indeed everyone seems to have a sense of peace with each other.  She believes, and I tend to agree with her, that the war games keep up aware of our humanity, of how blessed we are to all be living here, not just in San Clemente, but in a country where bombs falling from the sky is not a daily occurrence.  It keeps what is important in this life front and center for us.  It keeps us grateful and mindful and hopeful that someday there will not only be no more war games, but no more war.

Tonight, though, the mindfulness is especially keen.  I wonder if our war games are heating up because of Syria.   I know that the war games over the hill are being “fought” by young men, some still in their teens.  I wonder if they are afraid.  I wonder if they wish they could go home to their mothers. I wonder if they cry under the stars.  I wonder if they will go and not return.

So I am grateful that as the noise puts me to sleep, that I will keep them close to my heart and in my prayers – not just them, but all who are wrapped up in this crazy game we call life on earth that inherently encompasses birth and death, love and hate, war and peace.

Who cares about an actor who dies?  This is a question  people, including myself, often ask themselves.  I decided to answer this question as late last night before bed I learned that Cory Monteith was found dead in a hotel room, and woke up this morning profoundly sad.

Cory Monteith was an actor on the TV show Glee, which was a favorite of mine – a weekly foray into silliness, poignancy and music, music, music.  It is a great little escape, usually with a point and something to ponder for a day.  When his stint on the show was over, with he and love interest “Rachel” (Lea Michele) going their separate ways, Glee fans were thrilled  as we watched them fall in love for real.   Like all good fairy tales, it touched the romantic in us.  It was a real life happy ending to a sad ending in the TV show, and we hoped it would not end badly in their eventual breakup.  To have it end this way was unexpected and tragic.

So why do we feel this way?  I think it is because actors reflect our humanity, their craft mirrors our emotions: our fears, our loves, our hatred, our elation, our sorrow.  A good actor touches us deeply.  We laugh at a bad actor because even that reflects our human folly: to try something, not be good at it and do it anyway, for the pure reason that we are human and we can.

It is no more shallow to grieve the loss of an actor than it is to have a piece of art defaced in a museum.  Something that belongs to all of us is lost.  I think this may be the reason we, as a society, overreact at the loss of any celebrity.  Why do I remember where I was the day Princess Diana was killed?  Why was my Dad, who was not a big JFK fan, unable to bring himself to play ping pong with me and instead he cried that day?  Jimi Hendrix.  Heath Ledger.  They, in their notoriety, define us in a very public way.

In this case, I grieve because Cory Monteith and his cute and talented cohort, Lea Michele, defined sweet young love for me.  Here’s a video that shows the two young actors falling in love for real.  It touched me and soothed my sad soul this morning.