On The Beach

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An undefined feeling of incompleteness has-in recent tears-driven many individuals into a plethora of "new" religion and mystical groups. Warrior's Way is a book which explores some of these vague "needs". Its author, Robert S. deRopp, has seen the "consciousness movement" from both sides-as a Ph.D. in biochemistry and as a student of the well-known scien. tistslmystics G. Gurdjieff and P.D. Ouspensky. His experiences have led to some fascinating conclusions . . . and to a philosophy that can help each individual reassume control of his or her life. The volume's final-and most important-chapter follows.

Excerpted from Warrior's Way by Robert S. de Ropp (copyright © 1979) with permission from Delacorte Press/Saymour Lawrence. Available in hard cover for $10.00 or in paperback for $4.95 from any good bookstore or from Delacorte Press, 1 Dag Hammarskjold Plaza, New York, N.Y. 10017.

Waves.

They followed each other endlessly, swelled, broke, swept up the beach, vanished. I sat with my back against the rock wall, looking out to sea. The rock was a conglomerate. It told me its history. It had once been part of a beach, had then sunk deep into the earth, where the pebbles had been fused by heat and pressure. Then it was heaved aloft by enormous pressures and towered above me as a cliff. Now the ocean nibbled away at it, and it became a beach again.

Rocks, ocean, sky. The endless cycles. The sky was perfectly cloudless and the sea was calm. I would spend the night In my tent by the beach and go out in my kayak in the dawn light. Meanwhile, the planet rolled and the evening sun was swallowed by the sea. A flush of crimson filled the sky. A line of brown pelicans made their way to the rock on which they roosted. Above the place where the sun had vanished . . . the planet Venus emerged.

Waves, waves. As the darkness came there was only the voice of the sea, and a whispering wind from inland as air drained from the slopes and flowed gently along the canyon. It was a very warm wind. I could hardly believe that this was December. Not even a drop of rain had fallen all month. The creeks that should have been flowing were all dry. Another dry winter. Some new weather cycle was starting. A thought crossed my mind. If the climate really went bad on us, it could shake us out of the country like fleas out of a blanket. We might have to flee as the Okies fled from the dust bowl. The Okies fled to California. But where could the Californians go?

Perhaps, like lemmings, they would migrate in swarms to the coast and plunge into the sea. I could imagine the land breathing a sigh of relief.

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