Darkness defamiliarises, my notebook advises, in neat ink, circa 1993. It is a form of chaos, of exhilaration: everyone has a need to be uncontrolled if they seek to know themselves. We learn our capabilities in the dark. Or we give up control, shirk the responsibility, roll helpless at the whim of the moon.
Thumb a few pages further: find a transcription. 'Conversations with the sea.'
Think of a beach under a night sky; where I hear my thoughts most clearly.
The neat ink reads:
The spray was tall, lashing overhead.
I'm back to see you, I said.
I know, said the sea, which seemed to be laughing. There's no lesson for you today though. Just rest.
How should I rest? Do you have nothing to teach me today?
If a lesson happens, then so it does. Don't be impatient, you're on the right path.
Does it have a name, this path?
No, of course not. It hasn't been charted yet.
I write some of this down now. You're in my book.
Is that all right?
I am the sea. I will tell you things. But if you step into a wave I might dash you on the rocks. You may drown in me. I must stay true to my sea nature. You are you.
The sea laughed and laughed.
You are so tiny, it said: don't worry. Remember maya.
You say we're an illusion? The world is an illusion?
Maybe. Keep watching the waves.