Beach

Waves erase footprints. Sleeping dogs cur into sand.
The beach orchestra builds its daily tempo.
A young Italian woman unfolds a blue towel on sand.

She lies face down. Pushing up with her arms she assumes a yoga posture eyes straight ahead on a blue green sea. Her spine weaves vertebrae like a wave.

Calm and focused.

Visitors stagger from beds, walk foam, eat, stare at waves evolving from a flat lined horizon holding green island hideouts. People plan to sit or go.

Yes go.
Go for a walk, a swim, adventure.

Discover reality below the surface of appearances.
Dive deeper than unconscious.

Nail girls protected by large floppy hats seeking cuticles needing trim canvass sand sun lovers.
String theory bracelet girls traverse grains of the universe. Boys ply sunglasses for a bright future.

A girl balancing a bamboo platter of pineapples, mangoes, bananas, paring knife, plastic bags and sharp sticks prowls sand from dawn to dusk.

People watch people watching people. It's the thing - look without understanding.

A narrow blue and white boat arrives on sand. A boy throws out a rusty anchor.
Backpackers from islands unload kilos of memories, dreams and reflections.

Boatman throws five large empty water bottles toward land grab.

Mid-day sun shimmers above shaded tables as massage clients

smothered with oil feel muscled women knead bronze
skin tone epidermis as children laugh, run and play in surf
near extreme serious a-dolts and retirees wondering
how they ended up in paradise removed from frozen Europe
hearing dulcimer hammers at a nearby five-story cement project.

Swimmers plunge into H2O covering 70% of Earth.

Couples embrace cold drinks behind mirrored sunglasses.
Fat white Russians slobber UV 30 on skin and drink cold beer.
99.9 % of beach people stare at phones. Ocean waves goodbye.

Strangers accustomed to cement pavement feel sand
Danger. Watch your step. Cautious sensation.

Babel languages whisper a Sappho wind singing iambic pentameter odes with save face time.
Spit in the ocean.
Restless orange diamond light crashes into sunset.
Red sun, white waves, blue sky, green islands. Floating world.

Silver waves lap shore.
White crescent moon hangs by a thread.
Stars sing with their light. I am twinkling.
Create your sandcastle.
Rinse and repeat.

 

Gili Air

I am beginning to upload images from the recent adventure to Gili Air is-land and Lombok. Word and image editing continues...

In summary: I sat down on Gili Air for eight days and then moved around Lombok for two. About 600-1,000 people live on Air. We should all live on air.

Meno, the next island over is quieter and Trawangan is the party island. Gili means "small island" in Sasak, the local language. 

Indonesia has 13,000 islands and 1,000 languages.

Men farm, build new bungalows, fish, commute to Lombok or work in the island tourist industry. Besides rentals - maybe 350 tourists at the max with small restaurants, the water business - diving, glass bottom boat tours and snorkeling provides income.

Women work in cafe kitchens. Some sell carved coconut bracelets, necklaces and fresh mangos, papayas and pineapples on the beach. Mellow hustle.  

I sat down every day near the sea. I walked around the island in 1.5 hours. Hot sun, clear blue water, strong southern coastal winds. No people. No motor vehicles. No engines. Only the music of water and sun mixed with the occasional bells from a passing horse cart.

Beaches are filled with tons of bleached out white coral. The men used to fish with dynamite killing the fish and coral. 

The distant volcano at Mt. Rinjani on Lombok played inside white and gray clouds.

Every day I sat near the sea, enjoying thick Lombok coffee, reading, writing in the trusty Moleskine, made images, swam inside a clear blue water aquarium, and snorkeled with large turtles. Hello.

It was stressful. Doing my work.

If I had more time I'd make it shorter.

Metta.