This love/hate relationship

September 18, 2010

 The caretaker woke into the deep dark wondering how much night was left. He smirked at he saw the clock saying, “5:00am” His mind was anticipating the early morning sun at that time; it forgot that summer has left with the mallards. We are now entering the season where night dominates time.

 He reminded himself to step quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen since a guest heals in her cocoon sleep. He places a towel down to dampen the clank of the small plate and bowl that will hold his traditional breakfast. Coffee made; cereal poured; orange cut into six pieces. Settling down into the black night view out his window, he muses over the past seasons.

 The diva is “so over him.” She is used to being attended to and he has spent most of the past three seasons away. “Caretaker, my basement! [rather than ‘my foot’]” are the only words she will say to him. She cares not that he has spent time cleaning, added beautiful art to her and filled her with joyous spirits when he’s been home. NO! She remembers that there was not a garden around her this year which makes her look a bit seedy, and improperly kept. “What have the neighbors thought all this time?” she snarls to herself.

 The caretaker smiles and takes this love/hate relationship as it is. The time here and away has been spent on relationships. Hoping the each bond has been thickened and strengthened. Yet, this reflection is like looking out the blackened window, “you mostly see yourself with only faint outlines of the external world.”

 By 6:30, morning began to creep into view. With great effort, it slowly pushes the settled night black away. First, it allows the eye to see the landscape outside the window, silhouettes of trees and a vague surface of Lady Lake. Morn then takes on the sky. She struggles, pushing the black towards the horizon. The black bunches up against the far shore tree line and holds its position. In response, Morn brings in the light. She flashes the great rays against the black and exposes its hidden color. The black retreats behind the horizon blazed with pink, lavender, purple, orange and blue. She, in victory, claims the sky pure blue and returns the blue to Lady Lake. Her last generous act is to set the opposite shore alight. The stage is set for the day.

 The caretaker in the mist of the drama rose to breakfast the critters. Handful of peanuts and cans of birdseed were place in the assigned locations. He settled back to watch the feeding frenzy. As usual, it is the Jays that engage first. The flock descends on the deck paying no mind to the human inhabitants inside the glass. They have grown accustomed to the generous morning treat. Next the squirrels scamper heavy footed across the deck. They appear less judicious with this initial feeding; they will grab the first peanut in front of them. They know that the chipmunks will demand more food throughout the day when they will be able to be picky. It appears that the squirrels have learned from the chipmunks how to take two peanuts at a time. Rather than using their cheeks, they have learned to select a smaller peanut first and then a larger one is clamped onto as they scurry off.

 “I’ve never seen a chipmunk eat breakfast, but the squirrels take that time to sit down and share the repast with me. They appear to look through the glass that separates us to greet me. It’s good to be home; I’ve missed this,” sighs the caretaker.

Soft and Gentle

Martha and Wilbur, the Mallard couple, were the first to come up to the “feeding place” this morning. They have made a routine of visiting just as dawn breaks and before the morning seeds are poured on the ground. This morning they ignored the slow soaking of the land. They’re ducks; they don’t mind the rain. They also don’t seem to mind the chill of the heavy 35 degree air.

Wilbur, always the protective male, stands guard as Martha shifts thought the dirt for leftovers from yesterdays feast. Before I settle into my observation chair, they slowly saunter back to the dock. Martha quacks a couple of times; it’s the morning commentary to Wilbur since no other duck seems to be around. I ponder the change in countenance as the couple dives into the water, awkward on land, at ease in the water. It is a transition that takes less than a second to accomplish.

They dive into Lady Lake who put on her light gray taffeta chemise. The morning gown is highly textured with faint dots that dull her surface; yet, the dress rests upon her skin without a wrinkle. She also adds the very lightest ivory colored veil to cover her face and the opposite shore. She has decided to be as soft and gentle as she can be. Perhaps, her countenance reflects her gratefulness for the much needed moisture.

Chad, Sam, Pat and Frank, the four bachelor Mallards, take their time to come to the feeding ground. Without attachment, they are free to meet their own schedule. The bachelors seem to gather at a reasonable hour to have breakfast, like a set of retired men finding themselves at the local café each day. It’s an informal agreement; they appreciate the company when it works into the individual member’s timeframe.

Two days ago, Chad seemed to have had a long night of it. He’s the one that appeared to be getting home very early in the morn. He munched on his breakfast and then went to the dock to sleep it off for the most of the early day.

He made the breakfast clutch today. Yet of the four, he’s the only one that has his head on his wing to rest his eyes. Chad, Chad, Chad, Chad, Chad… you are young yet, or you are acting like a very senior citizen. Rest well, Chad.

Limitations of My Universe

The sky cleared last night and I saw for the first time an honored member of the lakeshore tableau, the moon. She wasn’t in her full glory; she presented only her profile. Yet, she was brilliant. Not only did she fill the landscape with her cool, white light, the bedroom glowed with her presence. I turned over and went back to sleep with a satisfied smile 

Yesterday, a crew of six men spent ten minutes removing the winter wreckage that was strewn over the lakefront and reinstalled the dock and boat lift. Waking up to the sight of the platform hovering about Lady Lake reminds me that summer is close at hand. Some of the summer visitors have all ready settled in. Within twenty minutes after the dock was set up, four Mallards strutted over the wood planks. Later in the afternoon, one of the guests was diving off the boat lift. Now, this morning, another guest is sunning himself on the preferred section of the dock for most of the morning. With the leafing of the deciduous trees and bushes, with the cries of the loons, and scampering of the squirrels and chipmunks, the summer routine has settled in.

Living alone at the cabin allows me to enrobe myself with silence. I was never one to have television or radio on much of the time. I’ve grown accustomed to the quiet. In that quiet, my ears are attentive to slight sound. When the crew put in the dock, I was napping and the slight rustlings in the silence woke me. Also, I’ve become aware of how heavy footed squirrels are. Many times I would think a person was walking around the cabin on the deck only to realize that it was just one of critters running to its morning catch of peanuts. Two nights ago, I heard the “bingadee, bangadee, bingadee” across the roof. The sound intrigued my mind in the midst of the night.

My human ego questions the right of the critter to trespass on my roof, my property. Yet for the critter, the roof is nothing more than a road to get home, no different than a tree branch. The cabin in integrated within his life and his known environment. Does a tree take offense at the squirrel using its limbs as a path home? In that moment, Mother Nature reminded me of the egocentric limitations of my universe and my understanding of all the worlds in life around me.

Unseen Universe

Two things strike my mind as I approach the journal this morning. First, I note the continued stillness. The recent mornings have been particularly beautiful. Yet, for the past five or six days, the uniqueness rests in the calm; there is no breeze. The early morning serenity of the space is almost disturbing. It is bizarre to consider “calm,” “stillness” and “serenity” disturbing. Yet, my history here reminds me that of the commonplace winds from the northwest and northeast. To wake up and experience “no wind” is extraordinary.

In the stillness, I have noticed a change in the feeding pattern of the birds. When I first arrived home, the flocks of birds were relentless. The scene reminded me of the Hitchcock movie, The Birds. Yesterday and today, the pattern morphed to fewer birds at a time and relatively long periods where no birds are visible. My mind ponders what may have caused this change in behavior.  

Of course, I initially considered what I was doing that would cause the change. My routine has remained fairly constant, even with the different time I set out the seeds in the morning. “Are the birds that fickle that the time is important?” I muse. Slowly, the awareness grows that perhaps, “It’s not all about me.” Perhaps, the environment is changing.

The maples buds have burst and the new leaves are half-way unfolded. The new-green lace covers birch trees, especially those groves away from the lakeside. Most of the bushes have put on their spring cloaks. Yes, spring has arrived here. With spring, Mother Nature is providing an abundant feast, a feast that I cannot match.

So I muse about layers of reality and the limits of our biologically-based human perception. Our concepts of time and movement are contained within our own biological clock and sense of movement. The stillness of the morning is full of movement, such as the unfolding of leaves. Human are so attentive to their kinesthetic sense and our rapid movement that we find great difficulty in slowing down to notice movements that can take hours, days and months. Yet when we “go against our nature,” we have insights into an unseen universe.

“They’re not there. Humph.”

The caretaker started his morning with his traditional routine with a twist. He rose as the pre-dawn light opened the sky. Remembering to stretch his calves, he stepped down to the first floor easier than in the past two days. As the day brightened, the coffee was perked; the orange, the size of a grapefruit, was divided into eighths; and the cereal was drowned in skim milk. As the coffee maker completed its cycle, he filled the can of birdseed and hoisted the bucket of peanuts and opened the front door.

As he entered the brisk air, he stood motionless for a moment as his ears rang with the morning chorus. The loon was given the first aria in the concert. The position of the loon was not a surprised since the whole loon section practiced all night. They were greeting each other like a “ladies who lunch” event that had not met for six months. Lady Lake hosted the event with dignity and satisfaction. After the solo, the 25 – 30 voice chorus took on the composition. It still amazed the caretaker that in the morning stillness there could be such a dynamic sound.

After the spreading the birdseed, the sound of the five handfuls of peanuts dropping to the deck confirmed that this part of the morning was complete. The caretaker returned to the relative warmth of the cabin, shaking off the chill that started seeping into his skin. Like a typical Minnesotan, he never puts on a coat; he simply goes out into the mid-30 degrees in his shirt that is still holding onto the bed-warmth. After returning the peanut bucket and the birdseed can to their resting place, the caretaker settles into rest of the morning routine, reading the paper and eating breakfast at the front window.

There was the twist to the routine- reading the paper. It was always easier to read the paper on the computer screen when he wears his reading glasses. All settled at the computer, he reached for the glasses. “They’re not there. Humph.” He got up and headed to the kitchen table looking for his glasses. “They’re not there. Humph.” He walked around the table to the kitchen counter, looking. “They’re not there. Humph.” He looked again at the kitchen table, more carefully this time. “They’re not there. Humph.” Back to the desk by the front window, he looked in detail. “They’re not there. Humph.” “Time to try to reconstruct where they could be,” he advised. “Try upstairs in the bedroom.” “They’re not there. Humph.” “Try in the basement.” “They’re not there. Humph.” Try in the laundry room.” “They’re not there. Humph.” “Try the master bedroom.” They’re not there. “Humph.”

Unlike a cell phone, you can’t call a pair of glasses. Feeling helpless, the caretaker rethought about the previous day. “Where the hell would I have laid down those glasses?” His proclivity to stubbornness kicked in. “I’m going to find those G-D glasses.” The morning routine was definitely broken. He searched each possible location in the cabin one more time. They’re not there. “Humph.” Finally, he reflected on the tasks of the previous day. “I straightened the kitchen table and desk. Perhaps, I put the glasses with everything else I removed.” “They’re not there. Humph.” In disgust, he sat down at the neatly arranged kitchen table pondering the forgetfulness of an inattentive mind. He gazed over to the side of the table. There was a reading glass holder. He opened the holder and to his humiliation, he saw the reading glasses.

He smiled; he laughed at himself; and he reflected on the fact that he was looking for the glasses, not where the glasses might be. He reminded himself of the truth, “You see what you expect to see which keeps you from seeing.”

A Healing Nightmare

I found myself downstairs at the first notes of daylight. I had a fitful sleep. I wrestled all night with potent dreams and left no part of the surface of the bed untouched by my tossing, turning and thrashing, I awoke with a deeply painful image of a 5 year old and a young paraplegic woman destroyed by a terrorist bomb planted in their suburban garage.

It’s hard to call it a nightmare since I was strangely detached from the dream’s themes and images that evoked horrific emotions.

As I sat facing the emerging morning, I pondered the meaning of my dreams and my dispassionate reaction within them. Within the fading darkness, I journeyed into my psychic and allowed myself to explain myself as if I was still in the dream. I first noticed that the dream was a summarization of a number of days of deep reaction. The dream was a manifestation of the inner dynamics and those dynamics would explain the previous two journal entries. I had been inwardly struggling for some time.

My mind explored the emotional detachment with yet deep underlying fervor. In time, I understood the force of the past four days of watching movies. “A good story portrayed with powerful images evokes deep passion; yet, the conscious mind reminds my being that I am not reacting to now, the present reality.” The movies revealed core values and remembrances of long personal struggles. My dispassionate response came from that same place. I was an observer of my dream as if I was watching a movie.

Then in the quiet, I awoke to the trigger, the incident that caused the churning. It was the racist, chain e-mail “joke’ that was mindlessly forwarded to me. At that moment in the past, I did react; I was not watching a movie. I was bound up and carried for days the conflicting response of horror, compassion and despair. The horror came from facing the truth of the pervasive, embodiment of human capacity to fear/hate. I felt compassion for the sender, whom I love and comprehend the obliviousness in the soul space they occupy. And, I sensed the dreadful despair from knowing that each of us must take the labyrinthine journey from that dark soul space to a light filled space alone and that many humans cannot take that journey.

As I returned home to the cabin completing the deep dive into my psychic, I grasped the wonderful power of the mind to heal. I smiled as I reflected on the opportunities I selected, my focus on particular pieces of personal behavior and the power of dreaming to piece together those elements to resolve and heal the internal conflict. I had a healing nightmare. 

After my inner passage, I watch a female mallard stands on the shore calling and waiting and calling and waiting, halfway between the safety of the water and the breakfast feast. A sentinel, neither protecting nor monitoring, waits in a stillness that is mirrored by the flawlessly ironed morning dress of Lady Lake. Between her calls, two loons silently glide across Lady Lake’s surface, disappearing beneath the surface every few minutes to grab their morning breakfast.

Finally, two companion mallards float by the shoreline. They acknowledge the sentinel’s call yet make no move to join her. After a couple of minutes, she relents and abandons her post. She joins her flock and leave behind the feast with a “Nevermind” quack.   

As they depart, they leave me with the stillness. The spirit of the sentinel remains even as she disappears from the tableau. For a long time, there is no motion at all in the scene. Lady Lake rests; her only work is to copy, effortlessly and flawlessly, the shoreline and sky on her dress. I respond by wanting to hold my breath and let my eyes breath in this perfect peace.

I Forgot That I Forget

When I awoke this morning, I forgot that I forget nature’s wonders. Leaving the dream world this morning’s was slow. My mind, first, wondered why I was feeling fabric through my bed’s headboard. In time, I realized that the fabric was the window curtains at the side of the bed; there was no headboard on the bed; and finally, I was sleeping diagonally across the bed on top of the covers, again. I clearly was coming up from a deep sleep.

The awakening did not energize me to move. I laid motionless as my eye slowly focused through the window. My mind started, as if it was in molasses, categorizing what I was seeing. I thought, “That’s a night sky full of stars and star light.” Satisfied with the conclusion, I closed my eyes and mentally settled back. I mused, “How beautiful is the night sky.” Then recent history entered my mind and confronted my conclusion. “Rick, it’s always gray in the morning. That’s no star light; it’s clouds.” The thought pushed my eyes open again to take another look. My mind had created the stars and the second look simply confirmed that there was light, but no stars. Now I couldn’t turn off my mind. “Where is the light coming from?” Along with the question came wonderment on how bright the night was. I could see the silhouette of trees and the dark scratch of shoreline across the horizon.

“That’s it! I have to see the source of the light. It must be the moon.” To my conscious mind’s amazement, I found myself out of bed and headed downstairs in the dark cabin. I confirmed by looking out the first floor windows that the night was full of light. Grabbing a flannel shirt I headed out the back door to see that beautiful full moon. In the morning chill, it was 34 degrees, I studied the sky. There’s no moon. “This is not moonlight.” I walked to the front of the cabin enjoying the fresh scent of cool air and the voices of the song birds. My lungs inhaled effortlessly absorbing air into the body’s core.  “There’s no moon.” My mind still did not comprehend. Yet, my sprit experienced it all.

I turned my back to Lady Lake and walked into the cabin. Within minutes, I finally awoke. “Gees, I forgot how gracefully dawn opens the day with the first notes of daylight”

Yet, what the mind forgets, the spirit can experience.

Size Matters

I awoke later than usual today after a restless night. I was uncomfortable and took my time determining what the problem was. In my nighttime numbness, I finally discovered that I was too warm. For a Minnesotan, the term, “to warm,” in mid-April is an oxymoron. We’re accustomed to enduring sleet, snow, slush, and wet, cold, gray days. I’m not sure I remember, “Too warm.”

I got up around 2am and meandered downstairs. A cold drink in the cooler first floor space reduced the body heat. Then struggling up the stairs again, I rested on the cooler couch. My desire to sleep returned and I headed back to bed. Challenging my historic assumptions that it was too cold outside, I decided to crack the window. “I’ll let some of this warmth out. If it gets too cold, I’ll get under the covers.” I woke up and realized I slept the rest of the night uncovered. When I got up, I mused, “It was warm last night. This is so not right.”

The morning revealed that Lady Lake dressed for spring. I’ve grown accustomed to her early morning gray; yet today, she added her sheer veil over her morning gown, the hovering mist. That simple accessory changed her whole appearance, a soft welcoming to the viewer.

Initially, the fowl-less tableau outside the window disconcerted me. I’m unaccustomed to moments when the lawn is not dotted with feeding birds. Hoping to encourage their return, I prioritized putting out the morning feast. I was not disappointed and was reminded that “Big Bird goes first” or “Size matters.” First the crows came, strutting into the newly dropped seeds, commanding the space. They dashed off when the mallard couple decided to sample the feast. After the mallards satisfied themselves, the jays, cardinals and blackbirds found their way into the tableau. Only after they have left did the finches and chickadees enter the space.

The parade reminded me of diplomatic protocol, strangely orderly yet strangely non-equalitarian. Perhaps that is why human equalitarian principles rest so uneasily with humans. Like many things in modern physics and astronomy [quantum mechanics, dark matter, et al.], the equalitarian concept defy common knowledge of how life works.

What we can know to be true is fading. Now, science is pushing human understanding in a point where we can no longer rely on our unaided senses to define reality. The human community is confronting the fact that we see and know only a very limited segment of existence. We live in an era of abundant mystery, a vast unknown, in which we cannot rely on our common senses, our common sense.

What a challenge to the “human body.” And that challenge is not being met comfortably.

We get to see both the greater and lesser angels of human nature during the dialogue. There’s joy and anger, excitement and denial, embracing and rejecting.

And all this musing comes from “size matters,” hum.

Courage, Curiosity and Confidence

The day starts in absolute stillness with a gray cowl. It seems to be a different gray, much less oppressive. Blue imbeds itself into the covering. And Lady Lake spins her magic with the color, now that she has rid herself of her winter coat. She enjoys finding just the right cloak to match the sky. Today, her cover is the finest silk that lays flat against her body. There’s no wrinkle or seam. The fabric reflects the light around it without any slight diffraction.

The motionless air stays undisturbed by the fluttering of wings. And wings are here in abundance. The allegory of the “early bird” holds truth since these fowl are about the cabin way earlier than the local mammalian creatures. I am noting the variety of birds that I was not focused on before. It is hard to miss the assertive jays that seem to eat more peanuts than the squirrels and chipmunks. And the crows seem to show up only to make their presence known. The mallard duck couple walk across the yard; and the loons sing a welcome.

The loon song is important to me. It completes the cycle started last fall when I left on my autumn journey. I stood on the dock as two loons struggled to take off from the lake. They were joining the migration and I said goodbye to them as they too were off on their journey. Now we have returned together, full circle.

Then there are more birds, including the cardinals and yellow winged black birds. Yet, my greatest fascination is with the smallest of the fowl. Tiny round golf balls of birds that seem not to mind their bigger relatives as the peck the ground for seeds. Yet, the small creatures may be learning from the jays.

Yesterday afternoon, a small bubble of a bird sat alone on the porch seeming to be sunning himself in the sun. He did not mind that the breeze pushed his miniature feathers about. I watched him from my coach as I was also resting after a not-too-busy day. He must have been aware of my gaze and found it interesting. In time, he left the edge of the porch and rather than flying off, he hoped over to the Adirondack chair next to the window. He proceeded to move from the porch to the seat to the arm, no less that a foot from the window pane. He paused and gazed back at me. We held this position for about a minute before he flew away.

I have not idea of the meaning of this contact. Yet, I am amaze by the courage, curiosity and confidence that small creature possesses.

Awesomeness of Life

The caretaker awoke later than usual today. The land was dimly lit by pre-dawn light. He remarked to himself at his first view out the window, “It was going to be another gray morning.”  Reminding himself of the new wakeup ritual as he headed down the stairs, he stopped and quickly stretched, first his upper body and then the legs. His new pattern was created to avoid the “Gees, Ohhh, Ughhh” of taking the first stiff steps down the stairs. It works. He’s not a spry teenager, but at least he doesn’t feel like he’s 90 years old.

He had a good sleep; he could tell that there was some deep moments in his night time sojourn. As usual, he had no memory of the fantastic novel he conjured during the night; he very seldom does. Yet it must have been good since his mind feels like it has been rebooted and fresh. The standard morning ritual began.

After the preparation of coffee/cereal/fruit, he glances out his window and ponders that it seemed void of fowl, especially the jays. The tableau was particularly silent and empty. First thought was to hurry and put out the morning feast. This time he remembered to take along a can of birdseed to offer to the “small ones” their portion.

He still has not awoken to the special vision the morning offered. As he walked outside, he felt the morning chill that removed the saturated bed-warmth he had been carrying. Nature’s “face slap” did not disturb his obliviousness. His back was turned against the view as he steps back inside the cabin taking a moment to shake off the cold that had started to enter his body. His ears pick up the call of the crows that seem to have pushed their way up front of the feeding line. “That’s new,” muses the caretaker. He finally returns to his perch in front of the window and finally he saw the gift.

In late summer, around 8pm, the sun offers a particular spectacular light. Perhaps only the soul knows that light comes in thickness and richness. That pre-dusk illumination hangs heavily over the land giving each object a hue that flatters every edge. The caretaker has never felt the heaviness of light in the morning.

This morning was different. Rather than gray, the sky was cleansed of all distractions and transmitted the moment effortlessly. The opposite shore popped again in its sepia, but today it was covered in gold leaf. That evening sun found its way into the morning moment. The fleeting splendor reflected so much of life, “Comfortable ritual lulls the senses and awareness of the awesomeness of life.”