Shadows on a Cave Wall

Years ago, I stood on a balcony around midnight at the Ritz Carlton Dana Point, facing the Pacific.  To my right, north, beyond the end of the hotel building, a grassy slope rose up from a cliff above a skinny inlet.  On a lawn across the thin squiggle of bay was a tent:  big, white, billowing, for a party or a wedding maybe.  The wind blew and the staked lines flapped.  When I had walked out onto the balcony, the tent seemed dark, but as I turned it suddenly was brightly lit from within.  Shadows of figures waltzed inside, weaving, undulating on the walls, fleeting, happy.  I watched them for a while and returned to bed.

I wondered why the women wore full skirts and the men tails.  Maybe it was a costumed event.

The next day I mentioned the party to the hotel’s conference manager and she was confused.  The tent had been erected a day early for a party that was happening that evening.  The tent had been empty the night before.  The tent had no electrical source. 

I could not have seen what I had seen.

The mysterious light inside the tent had an orange sepia tint, very beautiful, far away and pressed right up against my heart all at the same time.