I am from a birth at the edge of the sea. I am from learning to swim in the cold chlorinated waters of the YMCA at age four. I am from breasting the waves breaking on Ocean Beach. I am from swimming in ice-edged tundra ponds in the Sierras. I am from paddling about in mud bottomed ponds. I am from waterfalls pounding their relentless rhythm on my head. I am from hiking three miles up a desert wash to swim naked in a hidden spring high up in a side canyon garlanded with white columbines and maidenhair ferns. I am from floating down a lazy river, swimming just enough to keep up with my canoe as it drifts ahead of me in the current.
I am from walking miles along the gleaming tropical sands of Costa Rica. I am from trudging through the sands of the washes in Canyonlands National Park. I am from listening to the wind sigh across the dunes of Death Valley. I am from beach combing the cold sands along the Gulf of Alaska. I am from spreading sand on the ice covering my front walk. I am from mixing sand into the heavy clay of my vegetable garden.
I am from standing on the edge of a continent, gazing out across the miles of water, immersed in the rhythm of the waves pounding the beach. I am from standing on top of a mountain, gazing out across miles of forest, immersed in the howl of the wind coming over the ridges below me. I am from standing at the trail head, gazing up at the mountain above me, immersed in the silence of pre-dawn. I am from standing on the bank of a river, gazing at a busily foraging raccoon, immersed in the sounds of the splashing and clacking of rocks as he turns them over in his hunt for crawdads.
I am from being a toddler lost in the magic of the beans sprouting in the hot June sun, deaf to the calls of my frantic family. I am from being lost in the magic of the primroses and moonflowers opening at sunset, the roses unfolding at noon, the crocuses greeting the morning sun. I am from finding the rooting of plant cuttings engrossing. I am from planting saplings and enjoying their shade a decade later. I am from plunging my bare hands into rich black soil I have created with my compost.
I am from hours of pounding on the piano. I am from tootling a flute. I am from honking on an oboe. I am from schmoozing with a trombone. I am from coaxing beautiful tone from an inferior violin. I am from riding on sweet sonorities teased from a superior viola. I am from spinning a note from my own throat through my sinuses and out my properly shaped embouchure. I am from pounding my dumbek, shaking my maracas, turning my rainstick and listening to its indescribable whisper.
I am from dancing like a dervish to the Grateful Dead. I am from waltzing gracefully in the arms of my lover to the strains of Strauss. I am from pretending to be Anna Pavlova when “Swan Lake” comes on. I am from stomping in a circle of Inuit as they laughingly teach us their tribal dance. I am from sitting as a wall flower at the edge of the gym during the sock hop after the basketball game.
I am from long novels, short stories, philosophical essays, mystical poetry. I am from Harlequin Romances. I am from hardboiled detective stories. I am from historical novels. I am from devious spy tales. I am from classics. I am from first novels doomed to be forgotten. I am from radical magazines. I am from engrossing biographies. I am from scientific journals.
I am from long arctic nights spangled with countless stars. I am from long arctic days spoiled by numberless mosquitoes. I am from bundling up to cross country ski. I am from braving the bugs to harvest blueberries, nagoon berries, and raspberries. I am from enticing tomatoes from cold soil, from standing back from the broccoli as it burst from the same garden. I am from having hockey teams rather than football teams.
I am from glorious quickies in the sand dunes by the sea. I am from long, entrancing love making in a perfect bed. I am from impossible encounters cut short by the buzz-kill biting buzzing bugs. I am from stolen kisses in the library stacks. I am from fascinated pre-teen reading of “Playboy”, “Fanny Hill”, and “Lady Chatterley’s Lover”. I am from generous sharing when young and unattached, and excusive ecstacy with my soul mate.
I am a child of the Universe. I am of the human race.
the havens 