crossed the Golden Gate Bridge four times yesterday.

twice on foot

less momentous than expected

more companionable than expected-having found a good friend to cross the great orange structure with me

more painful than expected too-the traffic noise ferocious

on the south end, we found a quiet trail that wound above the sea. we sat upon a ledge in the afternoon sun and watched the waves roll back and forth. rested near the heartbeat of the sea.

there was a great white naked man far below us, striking poses for a photographer. Flexing muscles, arching back over a wet black rock.

I was mesmerized.

Not that he wore no clothes.

There were other naked people there, enjoying the beach.

But the exhibitionist part. I couldn’t understand that.

I don’t have that in me, I told my friend.

But now I see perhaps I do-just writing this blog.

No. I don’t think that's what this is about. Exhibition. That’s the part I don’t like. The part that puts me into temporary shock every time I hit the ‘post’ button. Exhibition is part of the process, nourishing for some people but not for me.

The part I do like is when I can be naked-or transparent-like clean clear water. When after all the hiding I have done, I can express something that feels like-even if only for a moment-truth.

That’s when this writing-this nakedness-feels good.

I know there’s lots of bullshit in here. But it’s a practice, not an accomplishment, this recognizing truth.

We walked back across the bridge. The problem with a bridge that I did not foresee is that you can only go foreward and back. That felt confining.

My friend said if he could be any animal, he would pick a bird, a big bird.

Yes. A bird could fly-not just two directions in two dimensions-but all directions in 4 dimensions, a whole radiating traveling sphere of choices.