A Midsummer Morning’s Awareness

From a restless and fitful sleep, I pull my consciousness from the deep recesses of my mind and towards wakefulness. I arise this morning at the, how’s the old saying go, "the crack of dawn." As I sit in my meditation/reading chair and gaze out the window I realize how inappropriate that saying is to this morning.

I have seen the crack of dawn in the high deserts, from the slopes of many mountains and on the eastern horizon of the sea. The light appears as a thin line in the distance. Faint at first, just a hint that gathers in intensity with the arrival of our day star, Sol.

Not so here in the Mary’s River valley. Here the horizon is close because of the forested hills that define the valley. Here the influence of marine air brings a soft fog, laden with moisture. The effect of this fog is manifold. The moist air settles and gently lays its dampness on meadows and forest. It also brings a dampening effect on sound. The new day breaks not with a crack but a quietness. A quietness that lays like a soft blanket over the land. A freshness that says; "listen, and in the listening be still." Not an easy task for one with my temperament.

But the most subtle effect is the light itself. Diffused by a myriad of suspended water molecules, this light of a new morning creeps silently across my mind. There is no sudden appearance of light streaming across the landscape nor land transformed into areas of deep shadow and bright welcoming warmth.

No, not here, not today. Instead the dark of night slowly changes to a greyness that becomes dawn. No sudden rush of light. No shadows. Instead a melancholy light that turns midsummer fields amber in its soft glow.

Like the change of the seasons, the fog lifts with a steady but with barely perceptible progress. The sky takes on a blue greyness and Mary’s Peak can now be seen at the southern end of the valley. The air slowly warms, the fog leaves and another beautiful summer day has begun. Life right here, right now is good.

Time for breakfast and another cup of coffee. 

A Morning’s Stroll

The other day, Sandy and I spent the night at the Summit cabin with our eldest grandson, Ethan. The weather has been very hot for July, so it is nice to get out of the Willamette Valley and into the coast range where the temperature is generally cooler. Not the case today, even at night it is warm, which is very unusual for Summit and the Mary’s River valley.

Ethan is at that age where "everything is boring," "there is nothing to do." Of course five minutes later he is fully engaged with something, shooting the bow and arrow, helping Nanny water the flowers, throwing the frisbee for Rusty our dog, discovering a nest of birds eggs, or beating Nanny at a game of Skip Bo.

We spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get Ethan to bed that night. "Mom and Dad said I could stay up till 10 O’clock." "Daddy always reads me at least two stories." "I always get a snack before I go to bed." "Can I have a back rub?" By now it is well after 10, we started the process at 9 and Sandy and I are both tired. Ethan is just getting started with requests and postponements. Finally we say our last goodnights, turn the lights out and head down the stairs. By the time we reach the bottom step, he is sound asleep. With three of these wound up balls of energy, it’s no wonder his parents needed to get away for three days.

I awake the next morning at my typical 5:30 AM, roll over and drop back off to sleep until almost 8 AM. This is a highly unusual event for me. I quietly get out of bed, go to the kitchen, where the night before I have ground the coffee beans, add fresh spring water to the pot, push the on button and head outside to rake the front yard before my first cup of Joe. I know. A lot of people say coffee is unhealthy, hell, life is unhealthy. I am not of the religious persuasion or otherwise that believes in doing away with everything that feels good just because someone says it is "unhealthy." Just seems to life denying for me, which of course is one of the major paradoxes of life.

By the time I finish raking the grass, Sandy and Ethan are up and Sandy is making blueberry pancakes. Yum, yum. After breakfast I take my second cup to the guest cabin’s deck, along with my latest read. Time for some early morning vitamin D. Opps, another no, no. Half way through my cup I decided to walk up the logging road and check out the trees we had planted last winter.

Now for me this is a big deal. Riding my mountain bike, no big deal, walking, that’s another story. Since my right ankle has been fused, even the flattest of walking surface is difficult. An old logging road with tall grass, bramble vines, and hidden sticks is really a challenge. Oh well, take my time, be careful, pay attention, I should be able to make it. It is after all only a couple hundred yards to the plantation. I take my trekking poles for added stability and hobble my way up the road.

Even though I am in the shade of some big firs, by the time I reach the plantation I am sweating and slightly winded. It has been too long since I took a walk, other than behind a lawn mower. The road goes through the upper part of the plantation so it is easy to see how the trees are doing. There is new growth on all the ones I can see, this is a good sign. Now if the ground doesn’t get too dry before the fall rains, they will be in good shape for another year. The first year after planting seems to be the most critical. After that it is just a matter of staying up with the grass and brush that will try to crowd them out. Along with the fir, we also planted another 500 Coastal Redwoods, this makes the fourth planting of redwoods. The first planting now has some trees close to 20 feet high. What a beautiful sight, can only imagine what it will be in a hundred years.

I decide to continue my walk up the old road. It becomes steeper and overgrown with thistles and blackberry vines, but I can see that if I am able to push through these it becomes more open in about 50 yards. I slowly push on. The steepness of the hill now requires that I turn my right foot, which means the whole leg, sideways in order to continue upward. After about ten minutes I reach the junction with the new road and a flat landing. I pause to decide whether to continue "outback" or take the new road back to the cabin. Not really much of a choice, outback it is. Although the road leads upward, it is a more gradual incline, plus a week or so ago I had ridden with a friend in his pickup in search of some fire wood for him. As a result of that, the road track has been beaten down by the tiers, this makes walking a lot easier.

I am now walking through an area that we first logged after the death of Sandy’s parents. The trees we planted that winter are now close to 40 feet tall. That would be the winter of ‘92. It never ceases to amaze me how rapid the growth rate is for these trees. A rapid movement in the tree tops catches my attention. I see three Band Tailed pigeons perching on the leader of three fir trees. The white band on their tails become translucent as they take flight into the morning sun, disappearing in a blaze of light.

The morning sun is just beginning to filter through the trees on the ridge above me. The only sound I hear is the lazy buzzing of insects as they warm to this new day. I am now about to reach the second fork in the road. One will take me down into the back canyon and the creek, the other will skirt the southern hillside of that same canyon. The choice is to the right, no way am I going down into that canyon, I have already pushed my limit, maybe to the max. As I get to the fork, I pause and look across the canyon to the hill side we planted two years ago. The trees there are still being shaded by the tall grass, but when I was there with my friend Joel last week they appeared to be doing fine.

I have decided to walk only as far as the upper landing on the right fork, that’s about a mile from the cabin. I turn and begin to walk in that direction. I stop abruptly, about 30 yards in front of me is a young doe browsing daisies in the middle of the road. I remain frozen and watch as she flicks her tail and ears in irritation at the flies hoping to suck a little blood for their breakfast. She has yet to sense me even though she occasionally looks in my direction. She steps off to the side of the road and begins to nibble at an elder berry tree, then putting her head back down she continues to graze the bushes, grasses and daisies, giving me neither heed nor fear. When her head is down, I cautiously move towards her, all the while saying to her in my head; "I mean you no harm." After about ten minutes of this stalking, I have halved the distance between us. She finally looks up as if seeing me for the first time, I freeze. Her ears go to the alert, my breathing stops. It is so quiet I can almost hear my heart beat. She takes a couple of tentative steps towards me then stops. Slowly she turns and walks away, occasionally stopping to look back at me over her shoulder. I stay frozen. With grace of movement and no fear she steps into the brush and disappears. I turn and head back to the cabin.

Life is filled with the unexpected. Sometimes the unexpected can be disastrous at other times it brings pure pleasure. How we perceive this unexpected and what we do with that information will determine not only our personal attitude (self talk) but our relationship with other beings. When the unexpected is approached with fear, others sense it. When it is approached with love and acceptance that also is sensed. Ultimately the choice is ours.

Remember: all that glitters is not gold

In regards to one said Keith Miner, after a brief but intense incounter session we were able to deprogram his Pavlovian conditioning.  This was done mainly by allowing him to see that the natural world really is the color green, that the stars of the milky way are easily seen on a clear night and that the sound of silence is indeed possible.

 

Prior to that he thought that green referred to money, stars to Holywood personalities, milky way to a candy bar, and the sound of silence to a song by Simon and Garfunkel.  Having now reach a deeper degree of both physical, spiritual and mental insight we have sent him back to spread discontent among the natives.

 

As to his continuous omissions, we were able to counter that with a couple of Beano pills.   We in the great state of Oh-rain-on-yah are not worried about SUV's or Hummers.  For one thing they will never make it to our great state, there isn't enough money to fill their gas tanks.

 

Yes we are aware of the physocological discontinuity between the southern and northern half of your state.  We feel that with counseling, love ins, wearing flowers in your hair, lots of prayerand fasting that healing may be possible for your "state of delusion".  If none of that works, doubling your daily dose of Prosac may help.  

 

As to his propensity towards graffiti, we have been able to take this latent talent and turn it into a positive trait.  He has been commissioned to paint the inside of our capital dome with scenes depicting the natural beauty of our state.

 

It has been discovered that late night "bull" sessions with his sibling and a trained counselor have inabled him for the first time to express his inner self in a way that has allowed him to let go of his anger and aggressive tendencies.  WARNING: His new found inner peace and tranquility has brought him to a point of enlightenment that will spread love and joy to all those that he now feels the freedom to hug.

 

As to camp fires, we have shown him the foolishness of such primitive expressions of thinking and acting in the belief that it is necessary to have them inorder to get in tune with nature.  We did this by showing him short videos of the fires in your "state of confussion."

 

We return this wonder filled ambassador of hope to the hopless, of love to the unloveable, peace to the dicontented, and joy to the depressed of your state.  May his awakened condition stir the yearnings of migration within your hearts and minds.

 

Love from your northern kin, hope to see you soon