Nicasio Reservoir was like glass today. Breathless beauty. Or maybe ruthless beauty. Could also be relentless beauty in that once it has your eye it won't let go, a prisoner, I was, to the sublime beauty of land, water, and sky. Yes, beauty so powerful it hurts, makes us insignificant, something I needed to experience after the massacre in France. Truth in beauty, so Keatsian, I know, but sometimes I find myself circumnabulating the master poets when all else fails. It is my cathedral of light that sustains me during this time of darkness. Sometimes Marin and Ireland are one and the same, certainly for my grandmother, she named our place after her family farm Coom an nOr, Hill of Gold. Yes, ruthless beauty removes us from the paradigm, it's not about our perception of it that makes it so, we are a small part of the paradigm after all. It exist and survives outside our perceptions of the notion of earth which often trivializes the sublime moment of it all, the aha, or godhead. Something outside ourselves. For once.
(From a Facebook post)
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