Spending the weekend in San Francisco at a B&B in a high-rise mall, I am awakened too early for a Saturday morning by loud and inappropriate music. Annoyed, I imagine the early shift workers have somehow goofed. I recall that Heike said she found both her apartment and her man by going out for a walk, and reflect that I will nurture myself with a walk today. Heading out, I meet a vibrant man with a decidedly gay air about him who leads me to his home. We are in a very wealthy and exclusive part of town. He points out a singular building, a very tall apartment house, that is simultaneously strikingly rustic and very elegant. It is entirely made of enormous wood timbers, some still round, natural logs, and fantastically carved, like a towering temple of Wood Spirit in the midst of the urban environment. It sits up on tall columns or stilts of massive wood, like a circle of tree trunks, with the actual living quarters beginning maybe a hundred feet off the ground. The only way to ascend is a rather primitive helical stairway of logs, very steep with no railing, in the middle of the circle.
My guide leads the way, effortlessly mounting the steep spiral of logs. I start up without hesitation, but mid-way, realizing it’s extremely steep with no hand rail, become very afraid and yell to him that I can’t do it. I am clinging to the logs in front of me, like clinging to hand holds in a cliff, feeling that going back down is equally dangerous as going ahead, when I see I am actually at the top of the stairs. I throw my left arm over the top log, and my guide points out some black ropes, thin but strong, hanging in the towering cylindrical well within the circle of trunks. I complain that this is no way to enter a building, that most people would never make it, etc. It dimly occurs to me that this is no ordinary building and it’s not for most people. Still trembling with fear, I haul myself up the ropes. They lead to a small aperture, and following his lead, I pull myself through. We are on the roof.
There is a beautiful garden on the roof, with a psychedelic feeling. The carved wood timbers of the structure provide a harmonious backdrop for a gorgeous sculpture collection. It is a glorious day, with golden sunshine in the winter; the kind of sun that feels so welcome when days are still cool. My guide is positively frolicsome. We are rolling around on the dense green ground cover like a couple of kids. I can still feel his gay vibe, but it doesn’t bother me. I accept him as he is, and he accepts me as I am. The lovely roof garden, which somehow manages to appear casual despite its scrupulously tended beds and groupings of plants, some of which are very old, makes a great setting for the transmission of divine energy and purpose.
My guide sits up suddenly and begins to speak in tongues, a kind of vibrating, electrified babbling. It is all about Green, a green prayer, a green testament. He is praying out over the rooftops of the city, radiating to the world – Let them be Green! The secret green energy of the plant kingdom is filling him and expanding his consciousness, and mine by proximity. I reflect that I need to nurture my body with live green food, vegetables, to partake in this energy.
We get up and leave the roof, descending into his apartment. It is big, sumptuous and elegant. It is all very tasteful, old-style cultured elegance, not the overdone gaudy richness of empire or the coldness of corporate wealth. The beautiful furniture and many objects of art are all warm, humanistic and understated. The suite of rooms itself is an architectural triumph. A wealth of individual focused environments has been created within a larger, flowing whole. I love the open plan, and wander from room to room as the spaces unfold into each other, treasuring the sensations evoked by the thoughtfully designed spaces.
As I keep on exploring, the voice of my guide gets fainter and farther behind. I am naked and go downstairs to another apartment, where people are having a big gathering. Coming down the steps, I hesitate a bit, then enter unashamed, asking if this is part of the place I’ve come from, or another place. A woman dressed in lilac welcomes me. The event is a funeral. I listen to the conversation, and it soon becomes clear that they are eulogizing my guide, the owner of the apartment upstairs. I exclaim that he can’t be dead, because I have just been speaking with him. Then, it dawns on me that his spirit came to me to guide me into my new green legacy. I realize that, if I went back upstairs, I would not find him. There is a sense that the apartment, with its cultural richness, is now mine, and that even though I have come late and naked to the sophisticated gathering, I have an important place in this community.