Analytical psychologist Carl G. Jung wrote about a concept called Synchronicity. In an extremely oversimplified summary, it is the concept that humans a prone to assign great meaning to coincidences. That is to say we assign meaning and cause to things just because it makes the way they played out by chance much more interesting. It was meant to be.
In 1993 James Redfield published The Celestine Prophecy: An Adventure. A fictional tale where a manuscript with 9 mystical insights gets discovered and translated. Insights to guide a shift in the consciousness of humankind. It used an eastern influenced perspective claiming that coincidences were how we received directions from divinity.
Call it what you will but the saxophone/guitar duo that plays outside my window every day always closes with a big version of what may be my favorite song. And yes, all of that was just a dramatic intro to the song of the day. This is a beautiful version.
Today was stunning. I wonder if the phases of a sunset have titles? I know the golden hour. That hour or so before sunset photographers (and myself) love because everything glows with orangish yellow warmth.
The dip maybe? For when the… yeah, you get it. What is the after party called? What is that hour after the sun goes down where the sky catches fire?
The sunset after party is gorgeous. Like a little encore, and if some scattered clouds are in attendance, all the better. The clouds linger gray like the smoke after a match has burned itself out. The temperature drops almost instantly but the walk back gets the purples and blues. All of the fantastic tangerines and auburns left behind.
I was at the skatepark during the golden hour. I walked up on the concrete outcroppings that face the ocean. The angular glow was making the park pure artwork, as it always tries to do. Then this kid, barely knee high, came grinding across the coping in front of me. The back wheels of his board caught the lip and he fell the better part of 5 feet straight on the pavement. Blam! My heart skipped a beat, eyes shot open, and my keister puckered so fast it made the snap finger sound.
His dad trotted to the edge with a calm “you’re alright”. Tha fuck he is!!! went ripping through my mind but just as it passed the child sprung back to their feet.
The kid proceeds to tell his father that his intent was to grind the coping to a stop, and THEN drop in from the top of the lip. I don’t really know what those words mean but he was pointing to a place higher than where he bailed from. Then proceeded to demonstrate.
I was not the only one to say “holy shit” and the dad gave a glance over both shoulders, looked back to the little rock star nodding approvingly, “I know” spoken proudly.
I ask “how old?”
The dad gives back “just turned 6”. I had guessed younger.
“Why aren’t you in there with him?” I inquire, adding “I assume you are a skater”.
“Never been on a board in my life, he taught himself.” My jaw dropped; the dad was used to that reaction.
There is a concrete ramp that angles 45 degrees and is over 4ft. tall at its highest point. At the top there are 2 extra concrete stairs bringing it to over 5ft. This child proceeds to thread between kids twice his height and rip right over the stairs, onto the ramp bombing down, across, and then right off the other side into the sand.
The dad continues “I’m just here to make sure he keeps the safety gear on. I have to google half the words he says to me about any of it” as he jogged over to help his son back into the saddle.
Bravo prodigy. Bravo dad.
“Behind every child that believes in themselves,
is a parent who believed first”