I am staring at this blank page. Have been for a few minutes, since I reached my halfway point on the trail this morning. Words are not coming easily this morning. Too much that I could write about, very little that I want to write about.
I could write about difficult conversations… We all have them now and then, and… I’m already not really feeling like saying more. I mean, having the hard conversations really matters, and having them from a kind and well-intentioned perspective is generally a good approach. What else is there to say?
I could write about how convincingly complex scams can be, and encourage you to protect yourself. This too, in spite of how much it could matter, isn’t anything I really feel like throwing more words at this morning.
I could write about the critical importance of good manners, kindness, and consideration, even within our most intimate relationships… But it seems a little obvious. Too obvious to be said, again.
I could write about work, life, art, gardening – I could use some recent moment as an example or as a metaphor. I just don’t feel like it, just now. My mind wanders and I am more inclined to simply enjoy this moment, here. On the horizon, in the distance, hot air balloons rise as shadowy shapes against the pale peach and tangerine hues of the morning sky.
Oaks along the trail
I breathe, exhale, and relax. The morning is a chilly one. I am comfortably warm in a favorite heavy sweater. A mist is rising from the lowlands of the marsh as the sun rises on the eastern horizon. This morning this moment is my entire world – at least for now. It’s enough. I sit quietly watching the sunrise.
My tinnitus fills my awareness. I breathe, exhale, and let that go, turning my attention willfully to other sounds. “Pay no attention to the sounds that aren’t there.” I remind myself. A crow lands on the fence rail next to me, fairly close. He steps back and forth, looking me over before loudly exclaiming something in a language I don’t understand and then taking flight. The clouds over head take on mother of pearl hues, baby blue, seashell pink, it’s quite beautiful, but I don’t manage to get a picture that shows what my eyes see. So much color! I sigh to myself and give up trying, and instead just enjoy the sight. That’s enough.
My eyelids feel heavy. My back aches. I think I could happily curl up in a soft blanket and nap for awhile… but this is neither the time nor the place for napping. My body and mind seem to plead with me to get some fucking rest, for real. I think about the things that must be done today… most of that could be done tomorrow with no great ill effects.
I sigh again as the sunrise becomes the start of a new day. I still don’t have much to say. I still want a nap. No idea what I’ll do with the day… But I know I’ll begin again, on the other end of this trail.
It’s a chilly morning out on the trail. I’m okay with that, I’ve got a warm sweater on. The afternoon is forecast to be cooler, too. It definitely feels like fall now. I walked briskly, hands jammed into my pockets. I forgot to grab my cane, but so far my ankle is not failing me. I get to my halfway point still steady on my feet, and the pain I am in is “only” my arthritis. That’s not stopping me – it’s not even slowing me down, it’s just annoying.
I stop and take a seat on this rock that is “my usual spot”. It’s still fairly dark, though after I turn off my headlamp, I see that daybreak is here. The sky is a hazy gray, a combination of cloudy skies and distant wildfire smoke. It’s been a pretty dry year. I find myself wishing it would rain. I sigh to myself. Wishes aren’t worth much. Yearning doesn’t take me farther along my path unless I also put in the necessary work to walk it. There are reliably verbs involved. Choices to make. Actions to take. Will and effort and follow through required. We each have to walk our own mile, and no amount of yearning or daydreaming or wishing will take us to our destination.
I sit with my thoughts awhile. Daybreak becomes a hazy gray dawn, with a streak of orange on the eastern horizon as the sunrise begins. I’m grateful to see another. For a moment I wonder how many sunrises have there been in all of human history, and whether our earliest conscious cousins among primitive people also watched the sun rise with eyes wide with wonder, enjoying the rare hues and splendid colors? Surely they must have…?
I exchange a few words with my beloved Traveling Partner as the day begins. I feel relaxed and merry in spite of pain. It is a pleasant day, so far.
The trees are green now, with hints of yellow and russet, instead of appearing as dark smudges alongside the trail. The sky is a softer hazy pale blue. The trail is clearly visible and the start of the work day is on the other side of this walk… It’s already time to begin again.
Yesterday was a beautiful and fulfilling excursion into a single prolonged moment of self-reflection and wonder. Meaning to say, it was a lovely day spent mostly in my own head.
What enlightenment looks like.
I walked miles of beach at low tide, close to the water’s edge where the sand is most firm and walkable. I ventured across slipping loose sand to explore rocks piled at the foot of steep erosion prone cliffs. I peered into tide pools ankle deep in waves as the tide turned. I walked, and wondered as I wandered.
I saw empty limpet and crab shells on the beach, and pebbles tumbled smooth by ocean waves. I saw anemones and starfish clinging to the rocks exposed at low tide. I saw a variety of sea plants uprooted and tossed along the beach, and even corals torn from wherever they had been, and carried to the chilly Oregon beach on which I spent the morning. Name it? Nah. Go find your own. lol The adventure and satisfaction are not about the specific location, they are more to do with how I spent the time and where I turned my attention; inward.
What you see is often a matter of where you look. This is a picture of a starfish.
I enjoyed the day. I feel more rested than I have in a long while. I sit now, alongside the local trail I’ve been walking most mornings lately, enjoying a few minutes of quiet reflection as the sun rises. Today is an ordinary work day. I feel easy in my skin and comfortable with myself. I’m in a ferocious amount of pain, which is neither surprising nor particularly consequential. It’s just a “feature” of this mortal life.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. This morning, the world’s stress and chaos, the violence, the bullshit, and the jockeying for power by the already powerful is nothing to do with me, directly. I’m here, now, in this moment, in this local place. My heart feels light. It’s enough.
I look down the trail, as the eastern horizon turns a bold orange. A new day begins. I smile and get to my feet. It’s time for me to begin, again, too.
It is the fall equinox. I took the day off from work to reflect, and to find balance. It’s the equinox, after all. It is a time for balance, day and night briefly the same length, a reminder that balance can be found, but not held static. Balance is not a permanent condition.
Lincoln City, at Road’s End, before sunrise.
I sip a hot coffee. The paper cup is warm in my hands. The morning is chillier here on the coast. I’m grateful for the foresight to have worn a warm sweater. I listen to the roar of the waves and the sea breeze, watching the sky begin to lighten, as daybreak, then dawn, each arrive in turn. As the dawn lights the horizon, I begin watching the waves roll in, in rows, stretching along the now-visible beach. The horizon itself is obscured by morning fog or dense clouds. I hear sea birds taking flight, calling to each other.
Where do I find balance? I guess anywhere that I create it, from whatever chaos is handy in the moment. Balance is in the choices I make. Same with “finding my center”. I create that center, that firm foundation, that moment to pause, to reflect, to breathe, and to simply be. I know that I’ve made it sound too easy. It’s not reliably easy. I sometimes choose poorly, or attempt to snatch a sense of balance from a moment that wanted something else of me entirely. As with painting, composition matters – just because a sight exists, doesn’t make it visually beautiful, worth putting on canvas – and so too with moments and seeking (or finding, or creating) balance. It’s not always “time for that”.
Moments later, same location, different perspective.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. This is a good place for meditation, and a good moment for it. I take time for that as the sun rises, watching the waves, listening to the sea breeze, letting my thoughts float gently by, observed but not engaging with them. I focus on my breath, and the waves, and the distant horizon. There is time later for other things. For now, this is enough.
… Time passes. What’s left of my coffee is now cold. So are my hands. Curious gulls stand very near the car, eyeing me curiously. The misty western horizon has taken on a delicate shell pink hue, and the waves are steely gray edged in frothy white as they reach the shallows along the shore. Beautiful.
After meditating, before walking on the beach.
Certainly there is enough daylight now to easily see the steep path down to the beach. It’s quite chilly this morning, but I’m warmly dressed, appropriate for the chill of an autumn walk along the ocean beach early in the morning. I’ll take my time and enjoy the sights. The morning is mine, for finding or creating balance, on a lovely fall equinox. Later, I’ll return home and prepare a lovely meal and celebrate at home. It’s nothing particularly fancy, and doesn’t need to be (although the recipe I’m following is complex, and the dish suited to a celebration). I’m simply observing the change of seasons my own way.
I managed to sleep a little later this morning. I arrived at the trailhead at daybreak, a smudgy dirty looking faint orange streak along the horizon hints at sunrise coming soon. No point waiting. I trade shoes for boots, and grab my cane and my headlamp and step onto the trail.
The shallow bowl of the marshy meadow lowlands is filled with a dense mist. When I reach it, the mist envelopes me. Peculiarly, the mist is only about 4 feet deep, and I can’t see the ground I am walking in any detail. My headlamp is worse than useless, and I turn it off, letting it hang from my neck like some sort of awkward ornament. I keep walking, watching the sky lighten, listening to the quiet sounds of the meadow and marsh around me. I hear traffic on the nearby highway. The Tualatin river flows through here, forming one boundary of the park. I don’t hear it flowing by, deep and murky. The air is still and a bit chilly. I’m grateful to be wearing my fleece this morning.
I eventually reach my halfway point and stop for a bit, to meditate and write and reflect on life and the world.
Halfway on a misty morning.
I sit thinking about freedom. I’m not sure why it’s on my mind. Perhaps because, for the first time in my own lifetime, the United States is being lead by someone who appears to think freedom of speech is somehow defined by what he wants to hear, personally. So much to find distasteful and disturbing by the very idea. It’s a good time to buy books on subjects this administration finds objectionable – and to read them – we are realistically at risk of seeing them pulled from bookstores and libraries “for our own good”, “for the children”, or because they have been deemed unacceptable for some reason, by some narrow special interest group. I’m not kidding. No exaggeration, I am deeply concerned about our intellectual freedom.
…When the cold war ended, I felt so hopeful about the world…
I’d love to see truth become more popular. I dislike the media hype machine, and the pursuit of likes, clicks, and views produces some awful results, not the least of which is poor quality writing and reporting that may lack any factual basis. Maybe the move to undermine free speech will result in legislation that requires truth in reporting? That would be hilarious – and might serve us well, in the long run.
I sigh quietly by myself watching the mist spread slowly, obscuring the view. I reflect on the mist as a metaphor, dense, obscuring my view, hiding obstacles on my path, clammy and chilly and clinging to me as I move through it, but lacking real substance, and incapable of impeding my movement. It has no power that I don’t give it. That’s important to understand.
I’m just saying, read the books you see being restricted, withheld from libraries and institutions, or hear those in power seeking to dismiss or “cancel”. Those books wouldn’t be a big deal, if they didn’t say something worth hearing.
“Woke” isn’t an insult. It’s a term used to indicate that a person recognizes institutional and systemic injustices, most commonly those with a racial basis, but also gender (misogyny is still a real problem), and disability. Commandeering the term to use as an insult dilutes and undermines its value – but only if we allow that.
“DEI”… When did we decide that being a melting pot of cultures and ideas is a bad thing? That’s diversity. Can you explain how “equity” is a problem? Don’t you, yourself, want equitable treatment in the workplace, and in the world? “Inclusion” seems an unlikely villain – do you not want your children to be included by their peers, in games, in events, in life? Where is the problem?
“Woke” people, seeing the injustices and inequity in our institutions and systems of power and governance, moved to make changes – and DEI as a movement was born. The greatest impact was likely felt in the workplace, initially. Codes of conduct changed to be more fair, more focused on consistent and equitable treatment in hiring. People who had been prevented from advancing, in spite of their qualifications, began to get ahead in life. These changes for the better began to spread. Life began to get better for so many people!
… We’ve lost momentum because a handful of vocal shitheads are mad that they can no longer rest on their privilege (whether that’s to do with being male, white, Christian, affluent, or connected is irrelevant), and now have to put in a bit more work to get ahead. Now, here we are…
How are those “guaranteed” freedoms working out for you?
I sigh to myself. Human primates can be so g’damned stupid – and greedy. That’s likely what most of this is actually about. Greed – and power. So gross. The worst.
A rose blooming in my garden.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let all of the bitterness and disappointment go. I can only do so much. I speak my mind fearlessly. I vote. I served my country ethically and with honor (at least as I understood it at that time).
…I remind myself to reach out to former comrades at arms, some of them are no doubt struggling with this bullshit much as I am, and there is solace in sharing and a feeling of safe haven in community…
The sunrise has come and it is a new day filled with promise. I’m hoping to spend it enjoying my Traveling Partner’s good company. It was a very busy week at work, and he has missed me. I’m planning to try a new recipe, later, and maybe fit in some “me time” later this weekend. Long weekend – I’ve taken Monday off for the equinox. Maybe I’ll take my camera or my pastels up the Nestucca River Byway and enjoy some solitary creative time?
The meadow is still covered in mist, as though someone rolled out cotton batting over the whole thing. I smile to myself, grateful for the lovely moment of solitude and rest from the busy week behind me. Sunlight illuminates the tops of the oaks. It’s already time to begin again.
