Algonquin – day 3

Day 3 , Sept 3. Day in Camp, R&R

Morning on Misty

A bird squawks over my head in the pine at the edge of the water. For some time, I thought twas another responding across the bay, but then I realized it was his echo . Other than this solitary riser, there is but the sound of a few crickets in the high grasses at my feet.

I have walked around the point, found my way through the boggy shoreline , which I’m quite certain is often underwater, and followed some animal tracks to this perch on an old sun-beached gray and gnarly uprooted tree that beckoned.

There are aster blooming, and goldenrod, amongst the yellowing edgewater grasses and shrubs, and browning seed heads bent over to let go. It is autumn here on the shoreline, full of the ripeness that comes with age.

A fluttering bird skitters along the branches next to me, then frightens itself when I turn my head to peek. A pair of geese passes over with a solitary honk, headed for that inviting notch across the water, laden in morning fog. It is so quiet here, you can hear the vibration of their wings as the fly overhead.

I wonder for whom I write anymore. Whereas at one time, it was so clearly a way to listen, now I wonder if it has become merely a place to speak, one more place to fill the space with too much unnecessary noise. Is it ever necessary to say a thing? Would I perhaps be more present to this moment-this beautiful moment! -if some part of my brain was not already at home, typing this experience into the keyboard to share with another? Has my identity gotten too wrapped up in that that it confines me even in these moments of awayness? I find myself thinking of what and who I want to say ‘to’ rather than letting this be a place of my own… my own thoughts flowing freely, uncensored, with no need for perfection, no audience to judge . How to get to that place of no need?

Are experiences like this to be shared? OR is it the person I find in these places the thing that I am called to bring forth to share?

The trill of a loon echoes, as if it encircles the island.

I have said that I write to find out what I know that I didn’t know that I knew, that I write to receive the wisdom of my soul – that deeper part of myself that knows and sees- , to receive a message from Me to me. If my writing has become for another then has that part of me silenced herself, if those words are for me alone?

It is time to begin breakfast prep. My tummy is telling me that. I can listen to that and I need broadcast it to no one….

I think there is something here about silence. How often are my words about sharing what I know, my speech about filling the ‘other’ with my thoughts and opinions, my experiences and ‘wisdom’ , rather than about listening. I am reminded of the book ‘Listening Below the Noise’ , where the author’s experience of intentional days of silence teach her how much she fills the space between herself and another with words (of clarification, information, control or correction) . Perhaps this is one more place where I am being called to simplify, declutter, be/have/SAY enough.   The inner and outer world tend to mirror each other after all. What is the one thing necessary here then? The enoughness that I seek, a subtle but profound difference between being too full and being fulfilled.

3 pm.

Sunning on a rock next to the water after a morning of washing while it was sunny and hot, because who knows when that chance will come again on this trip and both body and clothing were rank with the last 2 days of sweat, smoke and soot. I walked about camp, naked, for a time, letting my body air dry as my clothing are now doing on the deck of the sundrenched canoe.

I took her out for a paddle around the perimeter of the two bays that jut east and west from our point. I discovered we are neighbors to two beaver lodges in one bay and delighted in the sight of an otter sliding down the bank into the water of the other . I also learned something firsthand about the funneling effect of wind and waves as, with the bow of my boat riding high and light, empty of partner and gear, she was easily blown off course and I had to paddle with some effort and focus to keep from being turned ad tossed about in the gusty wind. More practice, in all kinds of circumstances, will teach me how to use the techniques I have been taught, until they become muscle memory.

Don’s need to rest his feet and ankles has been a gift to me this day, inviting me to just ‘be here’, when I am want to do one more thing – one more paddle, one more trail, one more lake, one more portage – not unlike the feeling back home when preparing and packing for this trip of needing ‘one more’ (article of clothing, piece of gear, book)

So, what is it I seek with one more ? What more can there be than this? What is it that I am afraid of missing? Afraid of missing out? Tara Brach places the fear of missing out alongside the fear of failure. It is something primitive in us – in all of us – that I can be tender with too. Tenderness, not reprimand, in the end will lessen its hold, ease my fear.

I have everything I need. I am enough.

I have everything I need. I am enough.

It is good to slow down, so good to be here, today, on this rock, with nothing more I can do than that. To face my dis-ease and let it be, to let go of striving for awhile. I breathe in, I smile, the wind kisses my face, and I notice it as shifted again. That is all.

A bee buzzes next to my shoulder, a heron lifts off from the marshland across the water, a dragonfly lands on my shoulder. (I still think they have been catching the insects that are attracted to my warm-blooded self. I thank them for that )

I realize I want less! At this time in my life I want less. Perhaps this is a time for stripping, for sparing, for simplifying.. . within and without. So potent has been this message. In all areas of my life the words come… less, less , less. I am simply too full.

algonquin 2015 autumn 037algonquin 2015 autumn 045 algonquin 2015 autumn 046 algonquin 2015 autumn 047

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

M.C. Reardon

photographer~painter~poet

Emmaatlast's Weblog

a place to be

First Sip

a place to be

Abbey of the Arts

Transformative Living through Contemplative & Expressive Arts

The Kitchen Door

a place to be

Canoeguy's Blog

For those interested in restoring wood-canvas canoes

a place to be

The Dragonfly Woman

Aquatic entomologist with a blogging habit

Nature's Place

The place of Nature in the 'ordinary' Spiritual Life through Meditation using Macro Photography to illustrate.

Small Things With Love

Finding meaning in the everyday

Adventure Bound

The only things you will regret are the risks you don't take

Katrina Kenison

celebrating the gift of an ordinary day

UnTangled

tell a redemptive story with your life. now.

%d bloggers like this: