’twas late sunset. I made my way down the hill towards the beach, arriving at the west-stretching boardwalk to a sky looking like this:
So that little mind of mine was what it always is when I see a sky like this: completely motherfuckin’ blown. Oh, the beauty! The indescribable beauty! It kills me. Cause I can’t express it in words. No one can. The Tao that can be named is, after all, not the eternal Tao.
So I kept walking (but now on the beach instead of on the boardwalk), trudging through the cool Andalusian December sand with the mellow moans of the Mediterranean in my wind-glazed ears.
The beach meandered, and so did my mind. Atlantis. Moorish moons (silvery crescents). Sevillan sweethearts in red-black dot-dresses. My friends who are still up North in the cold and the greyness. A christmas by the sea. The upcoming year. My innumerable and impossible dreams. My essence as a hopeless romantic of a hapless Hyperborean. The fact that everything’s essence-less in essence. Paradoxical. That I’m a blue-eyed paradox.
Then I saw the lights in the distance – the golden glow of Luna Beach. My destination. My Mecca. My Santiago de Compostela. By now all the stars were out (some albeit covered by odd-looking clouds).
By now I was starving.