The Golem of Los Angeles

Spell for Balancing Stones

70 Spell for Balancing Stones “And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance” —Robert frost, “Mending Wall” The bearded sculptor kneels in sand and lifts a sea-smoothed loaf of granite in both hands like a baby. Head bowed, eyes closed, listening to a silence inside, he lightly sets the rock atop a small globe teetering atop a spine of sea-stones swayed to one side like a hula dancer. Behind him each wave comes to shore and applauds. Buddhists say waves are thoughts breathing into mind and retreating. They’re all we know of the world. Yet past them is an ocean to drown in, and by the ocean runs the highway out of town into mountain rainforest. in this jungle past the guardhouse on the cliff top is a dream house with a wet bar, walls painted with murals of feathers and stars, blossoms and jaguars, with lounge chairs by the pool where the millionaire settles now with cocktail and young wife to watch the sun alight on the horizon, dyeing the sky tequila sunset. And though everything is stacked so high its own weight pulls it down, and though the forest ceiling leaning overhead constricts like a green throat, he listens to the Pacific lick its tongue below and imagines ways to stop the world’s heart 71 from beating his heart away, to hold the equilibrium between two waves, the way, in the stone garden back in town, the sculptor kneels among piles in frail balance, still holding the final rock at the top, and a hush runs electric through the crowd in loud sunhats as he shifts grip, leaning in to feel the tiny impulses to fall forward, fall back, but always to fall. The ocean sucks in a breath. in Buddha’s open palm the billion universes arc and threaten to crash. The sculptor raises his head and, eyes still closed, lightly he lifts his hands away from the stone. Promenade, Puerta Vallarta, Mexico ...