The haze of an unexpectedly warm day in late winter shimmers from the surface of the road ahead. The sun itself flickers from glass-eyed waters until both sun and lake are hidden by rising hills adorned with thickening forest. Movement as meditation, adventure for medicine; I know who to be in this place, with this company, at this precise moment.
And a moment becomes the next becomes a brand new now. Ceaselessly we thunder forwards into the soul of time, two people made drops of water, submerged into a grand river, inventing the same old stories as original experience over and over again.
Louder calls the still obscured water nearby. Thicker and more stupid crush the cars as the next turnpike isn’t a turnpike at all but the border. See the flags slapping one another in the breeze, underlining an imminent change of country in bold strokes of red and white. Are you? Have you? What’s the purpose? Questions fired, answers returned and on we go again.
I claim this land in the name of nobody. It’s not mine. Land doesn’t really belong to humans, you dummy. It’s just land. We need it to stand on and grow things in and build shelters upon but we don’t own it. Seeing as human beings are fashioned from the earth itself and fall back into it when our bodies have finished pumping blood and waving brains you could say the land owns us.
When you stand before the scrambling, churning roar of Niagara Falls, staring into H2O eternity, it seems less surreal to be owned by the world around you. We are transfixed and humbled, we are excited beyond the simple joy of seeing wonder unfold and tumble from one lake into another. This is sublime. The sublime. God is rocks and water, heaven is the ice-clasped fronds of iron-willed plants refusing to give up and go grow in warmer, drier places.
I am changed forever.