It told us to stay behind the railing, but with the wind kicking salt up from the brine and cotton candy blue below, I felt I could fly into the endless. Take a leap, and sore over the rounded horizon, see the world as a marble and be enveloped in its blue, green and brown eyes.
The cliffs of Inverness rise up out of the San Andreas Fault, pulling with them the distant memory of ice ages, serpentinite and deep sea stone, a stubborn wisdom tooth which defies the turbulent, violent washes of the Pacific Ocean, as it has done for millions of years.
To stand on the edge, to lean over the railing made brittle by the wind and salt, is to cast off the paper thin Ego and Id, and accept your smallness in the world. It is exhilarating, feeling the whirl and pull of a world that moves you, turning on its axis so delicately so as to not cast you into oblivion, like a mother wrapping her babe in her arms.
Your body remains stationary in your own perception only, and on the hazardous cliffs of Pt. Reyes, your spirit can feel it. The sign says ‘stay behind railing’ but it is too late: the soul is already soaring.