Post by Grubb.
Cautiously measuring my stride over the slippery granite blocks of Maine’s Rockland breakwater only confirmed that in my new dimension I was looking through a glass darkly. When, late this morning we arrived at Rockland’s jutting shoreline, the resort hotel purported to be looming over the waters of the bay was lost in a fog bank. The lighthouse that was supposed to be at the end of the cut-boulder one mile long breakwater had disappeared in the dissolving mist. Dark birds, dimly perceived in the gray fog, had the spooky presence of a Poe creation. It was safe to say that making our way through the murky cloud was, as experiences go, other worldly.
Advancing my sense of dislocation, halfway up the big rock jetty we ran into a couple of young women who informed us, in broad Southern accents, that the lighthouse was inaccessible due to the high tide submerging the stone footing of the breakwater. False news. As we continued up the jetty avoiding the gaps in the laid out rock, the lighthouse gradually emerged from the mist; the bay water around its base had receded so we could climb the stairs and capture a shot of the sail boat sliding by like some kind of ghost ship.
Leaving the lighthouse, we reversed our direction down the jetty where a growing number of people were materializing from the mist that seemed to be lifting. Were they from the world I had just left? Or were they from my same world only emerging at a different time? Like the ghostly sailboat, they were in the past and I was in the present. These questions occur when one is in an altered state. Or, all sci-fi aside, a different state, like Maine.
