Easter and the birds



This town has its own unique set of challenges. Whereas people in Boston are more than accostomed to letting their misery fly, folks in San Francisco will not rest until they let their immodesty and irreverence all hang out. Both paths are equally exhausting. I'm starting to feel like the lead character in "The Princess and the Pea."

Easter is a big deal here and not because there's any affinity for the Christian faith but rather its a big opportunity to poke fun at it. The gays and hippies come out for the Easter Bonnet parade and the Hunky Jesus contest and everyone is ironic and fabulous and outrageous. They all descend on Mission Dolores Park and smoke pot and drink wine and listen to the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence (seven-foot-tall drag queens whose main mission is service for the community). The Sisters are great and their updates and sermons and canonizations are punctured by local bands and DJs and the like. People roam the park selling 'edibles,' home-made pot brownies. While this may have been a never-never land when I was 20, at 33 it seems a little much. There's not an ounce of modesty in this town. And the understatement of Boston seems like a far-away dream that I'll never be able to touch again.

I'm sorry for the hyperbole. I'm just ready to have my post-move break-down.

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Saturday was at the other end of the spectrum. Eric, Richard and I took the N-Judah light rail to Ocean Beach where I collected waters from the Pacific (and married it with my Atlantic waters) and picked up a few stones and even found (what looked like) a Sandpiper feather. We then hit the Golden Gate Park on foot where we witnessed the American bison chillaxing on their grounds. I then branched off and held my own pagan ceremony within a quiet grove of Eucalyptuses. The night before I recharged all the crystals and semi-precious stones under the light of the full moon. *I felt so grounded after this re-rooting ceremony.* And it suddenly dawned on me that this place, this city of the edge, is truly a refuge of bird energy. Crazy, squawking, colorful bird-people with their plumage all out whether it be the vultures of the the Tenderloin or the peacocks in the Castro. Noisy city of breeding, feeding winged creatures of flight.

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