013108 - Tonight, the eve of Imbolc, is time to release grudges, forgive oneself, re-ignite the flame of spirit and seek inspiration from the goddess Brigid. I can’t think of any grudges I’ve kept this year, and need only release my disgust for San Francisco to approach it with a new attitude. I forgive myself for thinking and saying cutting thoughts; these thoughts actually hurt me more, but still they’re only words: important, but not lasting, easily moved into the past… Now Imbolc has passed, a success easily attained: I mostly slept as white bees’ wax candles burned throughout the night. The return to SF has been good - upon plunging into the cloudy atmosphere of the moist and rainy bay, I hopped on the air train and whisked my way through BART to the Embarcadero station. Upon arrival, I ascended the staircase, continuing downtown to the Hell’s Cargo bank. The auto check-reader at the ATM was unable to read my checks, so I went inside to make an old-fashioned deposit. I somehow resisted the urge to call out, ‘Throw down the box!’ as Black Bart did when he made his notorious withdrawls from Hell’s Cargo stagecoaches en route… The mural above the teller showed a classic scene of a man in a bowler hat walking up Market Street with the Ferry Building behind him. I took this same walk in the other direction, there lulling about for a spot of coffee before jolting into a speed walk to reach the vessel in its berth. It seems the clock tower is still one minute fast to help us get to the boats on time. We turned and sped away from the receding city, and I stood out on the fan tail as we swayed back and forth in the choppy waters. Sheets of rain splashed in on windy gusts, refreshing mountain-dried skin. Destined for the infirmary at San Rafael, I had Thai with SM and brought a bag of fresh vegetables into the solitary shelter, quiet, and calm there, soon setting into the first leg of the ’stiltskin marathon. These days of foggy refuge also included trips over the Bridge to the Ocean Film Fest. Saturday included an amazing three-program set, and Sunday’s final feature A Man Among Orcas proved a highlight. Now I’m back under Raffy’s wing, safely returned to the point of departure beside the Patron of travelers - one full migration complete.
