caught in the mystery

Our last morning in camp, we awoke to a clear, cloudless sky, though the air was so heavy with moisture that the trees – standing there in the near freezing cold, unable to hold any more in their outstretched limbs – dripped and dropped…upon our tents, then our shoulders, pocking the sandy soil at our feet. The sun had not yet broken over the horizon as we arose to break camp. We’d wanted to set out across the large lake while the waters were calm and still, before the certain winds of the day whipped it up.

The fog lay heavy over the water as we set off , so we paddled within view of the shoreline, about 20 feet or so from our boats, in order to keep our bearings, for we would’ve quickly become disoriented had we lost sight of the land. Beyond those muted edges, the water and earth were obscured by a blanket of white, impenetrable. It made me think of being lost at sea, with no identifiable features in sight, by which to gain one’s bearing.  Navigational methods other than landmarks are required in such places as that.

Perhaps I too am in a necessary cloud at this time in my life, my own outstretched limbs unable to hold it all anymore. This evening, thinking upon that morning fog as I am about to embark in tomorrow’s dawn on the journey back home, I wonder which direction to go from here? Do I keep the safe but known shoreline within my vision, even as I long for these deeper waters? Where are my landmarks for such a time as this?

Some part of me understands that there is something particular  in the landscape here that draws me. Its forms and its beauty -those sweeping curves and spires- interplay so gracefully with the water, both evoking and remembering me to a similar harmony within myself and my life.  I too am made up of both. Water and Earth. How to hold the truth of that within my vision? Hold gracefully the tension between these two in me?

What navigational tools do I have for a place such as this?

As we came out of the  last portage trail of our journey onto the large lake, which would take us an hour to paddle before arriving back to our waiting cars, the sun was just gaining enough strength to begin clearing the fog. Beauty gradually opened upon us, liquid ribbons flowing across the blue water, autumn colors just beginning to kiss the hillsides.

Perhaps something will clear in the warmth for me too… the shroud will unfold and open the way for me .

For tonight, I will just keep paddling on before the winds of tomorrow whip.

 

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