summer of becoming… water

Moisture blows across the lake, pushing its way up from Drizzle lake until drizzle is at last upon me, moistening my page as I write, until I am forced to rise, turn and make my way to the shelter of the lodge. Across my path, the wind tosses birch leaves that have let go – these early departures of autumn hinting at the season to come. Over my shoulder, the lake, once again, darkens to charcoal, the far shoreline shrouded in mist.

I am sleepy this afternoon. Perhaps a nap? – something I seldom allow myself to indulge in. Just four hours of work this morning – the regular breakfast chores plus just two beds to change and to launder, then the mulching of the pathway was at last completed.

Yesterday – a second blessed day off – I walked a half dozen or so of the interpretative trails along ‘highway’ 60, a total of 9.9km, integrating more and more of this place into my being. Ecology, geology, biology, chronology. Animal, mineral, plant, element. Water and sky. Mountain and boulder and soil. Lichen, moss, tamarack, spruce -white, red, and black. Beaver and grouse, lake trout and frog. Appreciating the exercising (and exorcising) of both body and mind, listening deeply, I paused when I felt fatigued (which I seemed to need and to do quite a bit throughout the morning, until I at last stopped to fuel myself more adequately), lingering alongside intimate lakeshores or perched long upon sweeping vista overlooks. Grateful for the complete solitude I experienced as I explored, I found myself mostly alone on the trails on this September Friday.

There has been far less of that (solitude) here at the lodge, although I am realizing that some of that has more to do with my own neurotic need to check in to make sure I am fulfilling my obligations and/or being likeably (or appropriately) social.

My reason for being down here at the main building at this moment, however, has far less to do with that than it does with this yearning to be nearer the water.

Water, what is it you whisper to me?  Movement and flow, perhaps. Transformation, yes. But mostly, I think in this moment it is simply this… peace …the peace of your ever constancy.

I still know not for what this time here has been. How it is working its way in me?  What am I becoming? How am I being changed?  I can say only this. I sense my self here in a way that I do not back home. I feel separate and whole here at once. Independent and an integral part of something. (Now the rain comes in earnest. A downpour. And I wonder, how is it that the same substance that falls from the sky, to be drunk thirstily by the earth, to fill these bodies of water, also fills mine, IS also me. So many ways that this element becomes and is expressed. Even as there are many ways that I too might become and express?) Is it like that with you too, Sacred One? so many ways you become and are expressed in this place? Am I but one of those ways? )

I think it has been good for me to assert my separateness somehow, to take ownership of my own body of life rather than being at the disposal of others (disposal, now isn’t that an interesting word?.. to be used up and tossed aside?)

The loon is fishing the waters now, being carried by the current, as am I. Alone.

Is she lonely? or is she content?

My communication here with those back home has been limited- by telecommunication signals (or lack thereof) -to email and web-based messaging when I am near to my computer in my cabin at night. Next week, I will be back in the park, completely disconnected from those signals, though I will be with Dennis and Marti and my beloved, Don. I expect that this time alone here may change even that.

Nothing stays the same. Water, you are constant AND you are constantly changing. Moment by moment. Season by season. Eons of being and change. Constant in me as I change, moment by moment, season by season, eons of being and change..

Do I miss who I was? Who I am when I am there? Do I miss my life?

I do now know. Not yet.

Here I do not feel the pull of the tides that knock me off my feet and threaten to drown me. Here I do not feel overwhelmed by numbers and need, response-ability and expectation. Here I do not feel guilty because here I simply cannot.  Here I can evaporate, become cloud, to rain on my loved ones who live half a continent away, condensing my love for them. Write a letter that pours out my love in way that the constant drip cannot.

I was so right about the need for physical distance in order to separate out me from us.

Is there a me separate from us?

How long would this way of being water suffice? How long til my own shape would emerge? How long till I would be reabsorbed? Become a part of something bigger than me once again…

 

 

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