Majestic Heights

Piercingly architectural structures overwhelm the city and crowds of ignorant hominids scurry throughout the city’s streets and thousands of automobiles zoom over the bridge; nevertheless, a sublime, majestic place named Golden Gate Marin Headlands peacefully resides near this city, San Francisco. Somehow, the view of this corrupt addition to our corporate country is suddenly morphed into a beautiful panorama. The Golden Gate bridge—an overwhelming structure that isn’t even “golden”, it’s red, transformed into a glorious sight. Fresh breezes of strikingly cold winds elevate the spirits of the souls who are brave enough to witness the majestic heights. The scene is breathtaking. The scene is admiring. The scene is inspiring.

Atop the headlands, I can see the clear skies, or skies that would have been clear if the pollution of factories that surround the place would have allowed it. Pictures of this place cannot describe the amazing greatness felt as I stood upon it, but the amazing greatness felt as I stood upon this place can describe the pictures of it. Lengthy, untamed, green grasses sway with the wind. Down below, sailboats wander about the drifting waves of the Pacific Ocean. Nothing is audible when I am on these headlands: hearing the sound of nothingness is exhilarating—almost chill inducing. It is a place where overwhelmed people can gather the strength and regain the courage to continue on with their lives.

Stressed, tense, frantic—I sat on a bench. The various inscriptions on it—“J loves M” and “D plus Y”, “EFO” and “DGK”, “Ha Bitch” and “11-14-05”—gave personality to the bench. The precious bench contained the carvings by people who wanted to passionately claim their love for their partner, carvings by people who wanted to childishly mock and scare anyone who cared to read their message, and carvings by people who wanted to simply leave a mark of remembrance. As I looked at each carved letter of each carved word, I started to release my worries and the breeze graciously took them away.

Following my journey to a comfortable spot, I sat on the bench of passion with my legs crossed and my body was covered from head to toe in warm cottons. My eyes were amazed and fascinated and stunned and dazed by the colors of the sunrise: a deep, midnight blue color covered the top of the sky as I tilted my head back, the indigo color gradually became a steel blue color, the steel blue color gradually became a salmon color, the salmon color gradually became a pale violet-red color, and the pale violet-red color gradually became a fire red color. My pupils didn’t move; they were fixated on the rising sun.

After approximately three minutes into staring at the presence of divinity before my very existence, my curious little brother, Jaden, interrupted the silence and beauty surrounding me. He’s a wild, almost three-year-old, boy. Inches behind the bench of passion, curious little Jaden babbled, “Gabyyyy! Whatchu do-eeen?”

I returned, “Jaden, I’m doing my homework.”

Of course, curious little Jaden had to pry some more. Jaden asked, “You do-eeen dat homewuhk, Gaby?”

“YES, Jaden! Please be quiet now,” I protested. Curious little Jaden did not listen. Curious little Jaden was still not done.

Jaden used his baby-lingo again to report to my mother, “Mommy, uhmm, Gaby do-eeen dat homewuhk wight theyoh (right there). See dat, Mommy? See dat Gaby do-eeen dat homewuhk, Mommy?”

My mother, slightly concerned with his interrupting my “homewuhk” time replied, “Yes, Jaden! I see that, honey. Let’s go walk over there, so we can see the ocean better, okay?” The two trotted off.

I was relieved that I could finally curve my focus back to the tranquil view from the headlands. Back to witnessing the magnificence of the sun’s array of colors, I noticed that the penetrating brightness of the sun, which was now rising above the sharp-edged buildings, felt empowering. I felt alert, energized, and spirited, like a bear waking up from an extensive hibernation, ready to conquer any perplexing schemes that the fish might strategize in order to survive. These new energies aided me in the process of seeking details in the nature around the manufactured bench.

Toward the left side of the ocean, where the saltwater meets land, twenty-four parked boats float with the waves of the ocean, which are induced by the harsh winds. Closer to my position, there are rigid bushes. When the bush is examined closely, there are minuscule, nut-brown seeds that appear to have even more minuscule crosses naturally engraved in them. The gravel surrounding the bench and me is poisoned with six cigarette butts from only three feet of a radius encircling me. My legs are still crossed. I’m taking the delicate observations and soaking them up. Although I’m physically cold, I feel warmth from within. I feel replenished.

-Post and Photo by: Gaby L.