Today, before I begin, I’d like to recommend two stellar blogs:
One, by Kevin Stein, a high school friend about the brilliance of laughter.
Another, by a guy I don’t know, about the cupcake trend.
I love listening to the thunder at night. But then morning comes, and it’s darker than usual because of the rain and thunder, and it’s another thing to love.
Thunderstorms force us to surrender. We can’t do anything about it, so we have to let it happen and accept that we cannot control everything. Plain and simple. And then we are free to love the sound of the bowling-roll of thunder, and wait for the clap of lightning to hit the pillowy gray clouds, as we sit and watch and just be in a moment.
Yesterday, the boys and I hiked through Cranbrook’s grounds in the late afternoon. We traipsed under forest canopy, we skipped over big boulders in a line, noticing the crevices and glass-like shimmer, and we dipped our feet in two fountains and a cold clay-bottom river at the back of the Japanese garden.
We meditated before the mosaic fountain. We watched a family of female ducks just sitting on an island. We traveled up and down steps, much of them in bare feet, and we stopped to smell closed-eyed the pine branches above.
The afternoon was not hot but not cool, and sweat trailed as we hefted up and down along the incline. It was bliss.
My boys and me. The afternoon quiet and the wind around us and the gift of being able to take the hike at all – that we have the physical ability and the freedom of time and the desire to do it together. In fact, the boys turned down an opportunity to swim so that we could cover the grounds and just talk.
I think my new religion is nature. When I am outside in the fresh air and sunshine, when I can actually FEEL every little happening, every texture, every wisp, notice every little detail, that is reverence. It’s when I am one with the world, and in such supreme awe of the fact that we are here – how can there be any religion more grounding or brilliant than that?
And today, I am in the same house at the same dawn but it looks completely different. Rain clinging to the window-screens. Thunder populating the endless sky. The newspaper wrapped in plastic just in case.
The kids are sleeping deep at 7 a.m. after a night of packing and playing with their long-missed sister. I am heading to a breakfast meeting of possibilities. And another day stretches out before me in all its glory with this awakening of wonder, this knowing that I know nothing, and am so unbelievably comfortable with that.