Thursday, April 11, 2013
The chamber and tunnels are carved from thick stone. Though there are walls and an overhead roof, the chamber and the tunnels are filled with light which is clear and bright. It holds a pinkish, golden hue that is diffused and does not seem to come from a singular source, rather it seems to both emanate from and come into the space, like a continuous and simultaneous inhalation and exhalation that emerges from the plants and water and sand, from the overhead rocks and walls.
The ground of the central chamber is covered in a thick carpet of sand. It is grainy and the color of butterscotch and holds the warmth of the pink golden light in each teeny tiny stone.
The ocean is here in this space. It is here, emanating and pulsing, dousing the space with the calm reverberations of constant trance-like movement.
A row of lifeguards, seven men and women wearing matching red bathing suits, stand in a line, all leaning against a large blue van that faces away from the water source, they stare at the stone wall.
The bed of sand spreads out into the tunnels for several feet and then tapers off into smooth, worn stone. There are engravings in the tunnel walls and floors. They are ancient and left by careful craftsmen several thousand years before. Dug from the ground, beside a fern growing from a crack, is a bowl in the shape of a sea-shell. The edges of the small pool are scalloped and inside is a bit of tepid water that has grown a bit of vibrant green moss that gently sways.
The water is sweet and little birds use it for drinking and for baths. The tunnels are bright and just as light as the main chamber. The enormity and strength of the stone walls are balanced with a cool breeze and foliage and a sense of openness.
The chamber is soft and calm, the ocean so tranquil, the tunnels decorated so beautifully. I cry for the beauty I see.