After a week of asthma and two days of recuperation, I sought out the sea and found Coney Island in Brooklyn. It was an afterthought, though. Seeing the sun glaring through my window this late morning I decided to take a walk, a casual stroll at the west side, along Greenwich Village. Found myself at Waverly Place, staring at psychic shops, fantasy stores and miniature houses on a public square dedicated to the soldiers of World War 2. Reminded me of spirit houses in Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur. It was said that having a spirit house in your yard provides residence for wayward ghosts that can cause illness and trouble when they live with the living in their domicile.I am reminded of my own series of works called Aniwaas in 2009 where I made rebultos with the intention of having them "house" memories and forgotten presences.
The sunlight encouraging (accuweather predicted rain) I took the D train all the way to Stillwell and Coney Island and took a brief walk until I am faced with the beach, the boardwalk and the sea. I immediately approached the onrushing waters of the North Atlantic and was met by an eager bunch of seagulls, carrying mollusks and dead crabs in their beaks.
The sound of the sea brought me a sense of home. The North Atlantic speaks the same language uttered in rolling tongues by the Pacific Ocean back in the Philippines, and has resonances of the West Philippine Sea on the shores of Ilocos. But unlike all the seas that I have known, this one is frigid cold. When I picked up a clam shell and washed its brown sand off with an eddy of water near a jetty I am struck by the fluid chill that lingered with the breeze. (I remember the Titanic, resting at the bottom of this body of water, some miles away.) From where I stood I saw the outlines of Philadelphia and sought to see Puerto Rico in the far horizon.
I walked and found the gulls cleverly softening up their food by flying high and dropping their clams and crabs on the shore or the rocks to break them. One gull flew with a tangle of clams and fish and resourcefully dropped the load on my head. I had a cap on, so it might have taken it for a rock. Who was that Greek philosopher who was struck by a turtle dropped by an eagle? I tossed the fish to Jonathan Livingstone's cousin and the stuff smelled in my hands. (Hand sanitizer is always ready).
A young couple with a toddler asked me in French accented English if I can take their photo. A woman in bright yellow jogging attire saluted the sea with a standing yoga pose. An elderly woman sat on one of the jetty rocks and with palms up, meditated on the beach. Behind her a man had spread a blanket on the sand. His things in and bag were safely clutched by his feet, and his sleep was quite oblivious, peaceful even, as a child ran past him, kicked sand all over: he was unmoved.
I tried my best not to face the north where the boardwalk, the rides and the residential buildings were. But through them I had to walk since I decided to go and see the Aquarium. Sadly, because of Sandy, it was closed. So I made my walk past the food shops and found a small souvenir shop where they sold action figures of Carl Jung, da Vinci and Mozart. The three inch plastic Jung now stands guard over my desk, pipe in hand. I bought two and decided to go back some day with my family and buy the whole stock. The Jung Circle Center in the Philippines (of whom I am an honorary member) will be quite amused with this.
I found some sense of childlike joy when I observed the simple physics of the amusement rides. Perhaps under all the layers of personal history is an eternal child (puer aeternus)? I would not be surprised. Also took back to Manhattan with me is a classic wood trapeze toy.
On the way back on a late afternoon, (with a pocketful of shells and toys) I knew I found something. I think I know what I will be doing as a creative project. The sea had spoken.
The sunlight encouraging (accuweather predicted rain) I took the D train all the way to Stillwell and Coney Island and took a brief walk until I am faced with the beach, the boardwalk and the sea. I immediately approached the onrushing waters of the North Atlantic and was met by an eager bunch of seagulls, carrying mollusks and dead crabs in their beaks.
The sound of the sea brought me a sense of home. The North Atlantic speaks the same language uttered in rolling tongues by the Pacific Ocean back in the Philippines, and has resonances of the West Philippine Sea on the shores of Ilocos. But unlike all the seas that I have known, this one is frigid cold. When I picked up a clam shell and washed its brown sand off with an eddy of water near a jetty I am struck by the fluid chill that lingered with the breeze. (I remember the Titanic, resting at the bottom of this body of water, some miles away.) From where I stood I saw the outlines of Philadelphia and sought to see Puerto Rico in the far horizon.
I walked and found the gulls cleverly softening up their food by flying high and dropping their clams and crabs on the shore or the rocks to break them. One gull flew with a tangle of clams and fish and resourcefully dropped the load on my head. I had a cap on, so it might have taken it for a rock. Who was that Greek philosopher who was struck by a turtle dropped by an eagle? I tossed the fish to Jonathan Livingstone's cousin and the stuff smelled in my hands. (Hand sanitizer is always ready).
A young couple with a toddler asked me in French accented English if I can take their photo. A woman in bright yellow jogging attire saluted the sea with a standing yoga pose. An elderly woman sat on one of the jetty rocks and with palms up, meditated on the beach. Behind her a man had spread a blanket on the sand. His things in and bag were safely clutched by his feet, and his sleep was quite oblivious, peaceful even, as a child ran past him, kicked sand all over: he was unmoved.
I tried my best not to face the north where the boardwalk, the rides and the residential buildings were. But through them I had to walk since I decided to go and see the Aquarium. Sadly, because of Sandy, it was closed. So I made my walk past the food shops and found a small souvenir shop where they sold action figures of Carl Jung, da Vinci and Mozart. The three inch plastic Jung now stands guard over my desk, pipe in hand. I bought two and decided to go back some day with my family and buy the whole stock. The Jung Circle Center in the Philippines (of whom I am an honorary member) will be quite amused with this.
I found some sense of childlike joy when I observed the simple physics of the amusement rides. Perhaps under all the layers of personal history is an eternal child (puer aeternus)? I would not be surprised. Also took back to Manhattan with me is a classic wood trapeze toy.
On the way back on a late afternoon, (with a pocketful of shells and toys) I knew I found something. I think I know what I will be doing as a creative project. The sea had spoken.
RSS Feed