La playa

La Playa, Marzo 25, 2013

The first full week has now passed, including the first week of classes. My intital day begain inauspiciously when my teacher was an hour late, being caught in a taco. Say what, is this like the Tomato that Ate Chicago? No, taco is the latin term for traffic jam. So, Monday had a bit of an edge to it. However, by Friday those chips and splinters were well sanded smooth and I enjoyed the week in class. My teacher was forcefully supportive insisting consistently that my lack of perfection was not indicative of failure to progress. Muchas Gracias.

There are other sights and experiences to note for the week, but the most enjoyable was a Saturday excursion to the playa, beach. Chile, as its widest is only 186 miles, so travel to the nearest beach is never long, and therefore in two hours we were there. Our primary destination was to Isla Negra, Black Island, not an island at all, but the color is appropriate due to the black rocks standing in the waves, chests out, bracing for the smash and splash of the giant waves, throwing themselves full force against. Both the thunderous sound and the fireworks-like explosion were amazing.

Our real objective was the visit to one of the houses of Pablo Neruda, a national hero, poet, writer, social activist, first S.A. winner (I think) of the Nobel Prize for Literature. He likely was poisoned by the Pinochet regime shortly after that coup. Only recently did one of the family servants feel safe to report his witness of strange medical treatment by regime doctors during illness of Pablo. The body is being exhumed for investigation. As for the house itself, it overlooks the described beach, a view from almost every room in the house. Pablo traveled the world in various roles, and collected all sorts of objects, bottles, shells, butterflies, masks, ships in bottles, objects from ships, and my favorites, the figureheads that looked out over the sea from the bow tips of old masted ships. Extensive and amazing collections. The house was a bit strange architecturally, as it was extended little by little over the years of habitation. But, the views of the beach below, the ocean beyond, from almost every room, certainly provided a source of energy and inspiration for many of his literary works. I have read some, and though challenging readings,they  provide an insightful view of love and life.

From there we traveled a bit further to a slightly less crowded beach, again occupied by the rocks. The rocks presented some entertaing challenges to climb to get higher perspective over the watery blasts that were happening below. I have always considered myself a mountain lover, not of sea. But, this location forced at least a partial piece of the memory chip that stores accounts, details and summaries, of those special places I have personally visited. The contrast of the calm appearance of the distant horizon, slowly shoving the sheets of surface until they wrinkled and folded higher and higher, until they cracked and tore and vessels of lifesource underneath burst and bled on the rocks, spread out and then strangely rapidly retreated and disappeared without trace. Incredible sight.

So, now I am back at school, starting a new week. Second weeks at school historically have been disquieting as I realize the limited level of ability. But, I will not quit.

So, now I am back at school, starting a new week. Second weeks at school historically have been disquieting as I realize the limited level of ability. But, I will not quit.

In the wave-strike over unquiet stones
the brightness bursts and bears the rose
and the ring of water contracts to a cluster
to one drop of azure brine that falls.
O magnolia radiance breaking in spume,
magnetic voyager whose death flowers
and returns, eternal, to being and nothingness:
shattered brine, dazzling leap of the ocean.
Merged, you and I, my love, seal the silence
while the sea destroys its continual forms,
collapses its turrets of wildness and whiteness,
because in the weft of those unseen garments
of headlong water, and perpetual sand,
we bear the sole, relentless tenderness. (P. Neruda)