Night Walk

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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.

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.

Earth

Really look deep. Take in the red and let it sink into your root chakra – fire. Allow the rich azure to settle upon you a royal crown. Draw the green into your heart on each breath and know your majesty. Feel the color filling you up, the coolest draught. Drink yourself drunk on the beauty. Now settle down. Sink your feet like tree roots into the earth. Go down, deep and dark into the fertile soil until you hit the molten core. You are exactly where you are meant to be. Breathing in the earth and breathing out love. There is a a pulse as deep in the earth as in you, waiting for you to lay your hand upon it.

Ephemeral Light

Ephemeral is the late afternoon sun. In autumn and spring colors are fleeting. Light passes over all life, a gentle hand grazing the tops of wheatgrass. Such a romance. Infatuated until dusk when a sliver of light caresses the earth and leaves me standing in the field.

Bouquet

No witch waiting on Hansel and Gretel. No sickness or evil lurking in the dark of the wood. Only a bouquet of light awaiting my arrival. So delighted I’d worn my best flannel.

Tree I Know

Quite some time passes when I am in the company of a tree I feel I know. Some I do, as in I have grown up with them or pass them often on my walks. We have that familiarity of time and company. Others simply stop me because I KNOW them, deep at the center of me. Maybe they feel the same. A sense of deep woodiness at the center of their being about me. I walk among them, along creek beds and down into the marsh, running my hands on their bark. Rough and rutted I scratch my back like a bear. I understand Muir’s passion to protect them. I, too, find it hard to return home. The company they offer runs as rich and deep as their roots.

Alice

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For a moment, I thought I was Alice, as its great maw gaped at me. Ah to tumble down into the dark and see where it should lead. Maybe to find Wonderland. One never truly outgrows the hunger for adventure and a new storyline, do they?