Story in Mud: III: Clarity

Mud: Photo by Noelle

Mud: Photo by Noelle

I touch the surface with my fingers. I find it’s kind of an artist’s Braille. There’s something about the craggy mess, especially when there is moist gooey mud underneath that captivates me. Sometimes I wonder if what I’m really looking for is a picture of Elvis or Jesus to appear. “Look… Don’t you see? Right there next to the half squashed dragonfly and below the willow stick. If you turn your head slightly to the side you’ll see President Putin’s face.”

I don’t know what I’m after honestly. A great masterpiece in earth and water. In my smartphone apps you can clarify a picture, which is to say you can pull forth all of the color and light available in an image with much higher clarity. It doesn’t add what isn’t there or detract, it just shows you the mass of what is available. I’ve had photos of pink and purple mud, blue green and so forth. The camera pulls up the conglomerate of minerals and rock debris in the mud. Sometimes it has algae mixed in or red stone sediment and voila! we have something completely new.

Clarity in all things is like this. The clearer I see myself, circumstances, other people and events, the more I perceive the depth of light and color in each. I see who I am, really, in the presence of all of these other things. I understand the mineral make up of my mud. A great masterpiece in earth and water.

Night Walk

Free Bing Photos

Free Bing Photos

We think splitting an atom is the most powerful thing we humans can figure out or do. I’d argue breaking a habit is. Without focus and discipline changing habitual patterns isn’t just difficult it’s nearly impossible, because the very nature of a habit is you don’t have to think about it, you just do it. This is great for driving to work in the morning, but if you have a habit of eating too much or never giving yourself nice things, it’s a problem not a help. Of interest, however, is inside our well-worn habits is the power of celestial black holes. When we break out of them it’s a bit like releasing the energy of a quasar. This, of late, has become my focus. I’ve challenged myself to break a few of my own.

Tonight I went for winter’s walk. I often step out onto the deck and think I should walk the neighborhood before bed. The air is crisp and clean and it always feels like there’s magic in all that darkness. Invariably though, I talk myself out of it with such pressing matters as there’s lunch to pack for the next day. I’m in cozy socks. It’s late and I have to be up early. I decided tonight I would make a different choice. On death beds all over the world are millions of people lamenting the night walks they never took and the sunsets they forgot to appreciate. That shall not be me, I decided. I left on my cozy socks and slipped on my sneakers.

The air was, as I expected, crisp and almost electric. Christmas lights dot almost every house and as I walked along the lake the colored lights lit the water. I heard the geese commenting on my passing, more than I could actually see them. At this hour, there is so much quiet that the subtlest rustle of leaves could be heard. I held my keys, as even their jingle in my pocket seemed a marching band. What I think may have been an owl flew over my head as I stood on the bridge that crossed the creek. The coyotes in the field beyond the houses announced the start of their night hunt and I listened to them yelp for several minutes before moving down the path into the wood.

To experience the night, it’s movement and its odd manner of light; stars, a crescent moon, street light reflections, is to awaken something truly mystical in your soul. I am certain it was this mystery that so often whispered to me as I stood on the deck. A mystery in me I can only feel when I walk in darkness and allow the sounds of the night to move around me. There’s power in allowing yourself to be partially blind. To accept the way isn’t all that clear past the next few steps. That you can be happy in all the black uncertainty. It’s curious that when we meditate it can feel hard to silence oneself, yet take a walk along a deserted lane at night and it is as if your skull has become the most beautiful chapel, your thoughts saffron wrapped monks bowing to the moon.

Little Light

Little lights dot the slopes in the crevasses of rocky crags and the meetings of hillsides. I see them winking on the edges of prairie grasses or from a thin strip of spring ice. So small a thing yet it holds me fast on the trail. I will change positions, lie in mud, and contort myself ridiculously to capture even a wisp of it. Mindfulness at its best. Who doesn’t love a sweeping landscape and my camera is full of those, too, but the little lights demand my full attention. They don’t come obviously or easily. Flickers on baby’s breath and shafts seeming to eminate outward from an inner source I can’t see. Prairie land in particular is full of such light. In all that rolling sameness are small plants acting as beggars to a regal sun.

Images from a train: Late Night Rain

Union Station Chicago: Photos by Noelle

Union Station Chicago: Photos by Noelle

It came horizontal to the ground, bending the trees back and delaying the train. As we disembarked it greeted us pouring beneath the roofs. Bouncing off the train and hitting its brethren falling down from above, a most curious silver veil was created between the train and the platform. I wasn’t ready to leave, yet like all journeys, mine had come to an end in Chicago. As I strolled in the bustle of other passengers, dragging my own gear, I pondered the auspicious nature of beginning my next journey stepping through a veil of silver light.

On the Road to Waterton: Part II

In love am I here along the creek. Each time I come to Waterton Canyon I bike a little further in along the Denver Water works road. On this day I met up with Bighorn sheep grazing on winter grasses. The view is winter brown and the sheep can be lost amongst the rocks and nearly impossible to see. There are aspects that feel monochromatic in all that beige and brown. Yet winter brings out the harder edges and the deep crevices, summer hid with leaves. Later when I play in black and white the contrast of tree against the ridge is striking. The blue of the sky missed peering down the canyon is remembered in digital, as if I just walked back in.

On this day I biked alone. Something I’ve taken to doing a lot lately. For many of us, myself included, we wait to do things until the right companion comes along, but then the spring becomes summer and the summer fall. Time ticks by and the trail you longed to walk remains unsullied by the gum of your boot. The turn of light has come and gone and the boat-tailed grackles have left the nests. Waiting to do the things we love becomes it’s own form of aging, because the longing eats away our sense of promise and youth. More importantly we miss what good company we make. Friendship is so much sweeter when first we befriend ourselves.

Angle of Light

My fascination with light is nothing unique, every great photographer, artist and painter has been captivated by this ephemeral gold. It effects what we see, in each moment, As if we are seeing the thing we observe anew. The objects are always the same, of course, but the angle of light offers a continually changing and fresh perspective. Light never detracts from the beauty of a thing, but rather offers us a different perspective on what beauty actually lies there at any given moment. In this way, light is much like water, always altering and changing itself and the environment.

Spirit is a lot like this, too. Offering me an endless series of opportunities to see different facets of beauty in the things I look upon each day. Even in what I see within myself. Spirit is never the same in how I perceive it, though as a non-substance substance, it remains eternally the same.

Harley

Photo by Laurie Buchwald from http://lifeonthebikeandotherfabthings.com

Photo by Laurie Buchwald from http://lifeonthebikeandotherfabthings.com

On the soul highway it doesn’t matter if you’re souped up on a Harley or riding a tricycle. Speed is not determined by the vehicle, but rather the clarity in vision of the driver.

Thank you Laurie Buchald for the great Harley shot. If you’d like to see some other great photography from her travels on her bike please visit her blog at http://lifeonthebikeandotherfabthings.com