Why others can't seem to find me at Bluestars?

Once again, duress of time plays a vital part in the hurried composition of the next fragment, a virgin webstar, unschooled as yet in the numerous pitfalls that seem to plague my attempts to pass on the necessary keynotes and steps to allow access to the Bluestars, stumbled upon accidentally in 1986, wandering aimlessly in the Delmonte forest on a desultory watercolour mission, I happened on the house of 'Bluestars' so called , because of its unique lighting effects; myriad glass lanterns of ultramarine , lined a winding path through some kind of now (obscure to my memory) ground cover, bluegrass, oxalis, cedar, gentian, vetch,? I can't recall , except to say that it was uniform, low and on a slope wherein lay the winding path whereon the Bluestars of our moniker bordered this walkway , winding up to a long low 'Lloyd Wrightian' structure, ranch style, Californian Japanese?, en effet en tous cas vraiment pas bleu! Plein du verre. The house, of, Bluestars, in front and round it , randomly placed and stretching upwards; the tall and elegant verticalities of paralellicism, the near branchless, (at lower levels) Monterey Jack Pines. Giving an overall effect of split minimalist harmony, verticality in organic form linked to a manmade horizontality in perfect concert. And all this, thus punctuated , by the spiky glass stars, lit from within, and casting a dim religious glimmer. I approached slowly, following the path, and not being able to resist touching the glass markers for to test their heat conductivity, no not hot but mildly warm to the touch, I gained the Paved area near to where I hoped to find a door , a knocker, or some such indication whereby I might begin to notify the occupants as to my immediate and impending presence. Only the sweep of long walls of smoky umber glass met my gaze, and no sign of separate window or door... 'Hello? anyone home?', I called out , somewhat predictably , half cheery , half hopeful, and immediately regretting i had bothered. Nothing , not a sound , but the warm soughk o the wind in the uppermost needles of the oriental pines, waving gently in the misted air. I resolved then to walk around the back following the flag paved surface that seemed to surround the implacable structure, the land at the back sloped down and away and up again into an ever deepening mass of vertical pines, grounded in a matted carpet of siena coloured needles carpeting the depths of a vertical and variegated maze stretching to an enigmatic infinity, .... when suddenly i noticed at the far end of the stone paved patio surround, a large and verdigris encrusted gong , yes, of the oriental variety, and hung from two blackened uprights, in ebony or steel. Deciding to make my presence more obvious I instinctively lifted the purpose made hammer, hanging close by, and swung and struck the disk full centre.......