April 30, 2015 - Old Wheels

These old wheels won’t be used anymore.  There will be no more spinning round and round for them.  Now they stand out back, slowly decaying with their bottoms getting swallowed by the Earth.  It’s a race to see which will win:  Decay or the Earth.  In this case, I believe it will be decay, although the Earth will certainly give it a good shot.

I try to picture the man who fashioned them, what he was like, what he was thinking when he made them.  He couldn’t have imagined this end, I am sure.  No, he pictured their usefulness and no doubt took pride in his creation.  I try to picture all the work that was done with these wheels when they were in fine condition, all the places they visited.  And then it was time to set them aside, just for a little while, just because there was nowhere else to put them, just because they weren’t immediately needed anymore.  We’ll get back to them.  We’ll fix them.  We’ll use them again.

And then “we” didn’t.  There they’ve stood for a very long time, and there they’ll stay until they just disappear altogether.  There is nothing in life that is permanent, least of all the things made by mankind.  One by one, they disappear--some sooner than others, but all of them go.  We who stand by and look at them and wonder about them and think of their makers do not realize how close we ourselves follow in their footsteps.

These old wheels rest permanently now.

April 29, 2015 - Buried

Do not look for me in sunny meadows

or among the flowers, birds, or streams.

Do not listen for my voice in the fields

or in the gardens, woods, or mountaintops.

I am not there anymore.

I am in the cool Earth now

in the moist shadows

in the secret dens of sacred ground.

Tread softy as you approach.

My rigid stone begs for balance

while reaching to the heavens

unaware its feet are buried in the dirt.

The centuries have shifted me

and dragged me with the soil

as if to say, run!  Run again!

forgetting that my feet are also buried

deeply in the silent Earth.

 

Do not look for me.

April 28, 2015 - Ent Sentinel

I’m not sure what I find stranger about this big old tree:  The little seat it has grown that is at the perfect height and size for sitting, or the large eye above the seat that watches over the woods.  I can never walk by this tree without feeling that it’s staring at me.  Can it be just a coincidence that a ready-made chair juts out right below an ever-watchful eye? 

I have sat here on occasion after walking for quite a while and feeling very tired, although I usually try to avoid it if I can.  Once I sit in it, I find many reasons to not get up again.  I know it’s just an enchantment, but knowing it and being able to do something about it are two completely different things.

The Ent Sentinel.

I will say that if you sit directly under the eye and look straight out, you can get an uncanny view of a road not far from here.  Oddly enough, moving just a little bit to the right or left seems to obscure that view considerably.  It occurs to me that passersby on the road will not have as good a view of the tree as the tree has of them.  Note also that this tree sits in a small clearing with only little trees immediately around it, and that’s a bit strange as well.

It is obviously an Ent sentinel.  This tree guards the woods behind it.  Nothing goes by without this tree knowing about it, and the smaller trees around it are little enough to just lift their roots right out of the soil and quickly spread whatever message must be given to the trees behind them.  This is Maine, after all, last stronghold of the Ents and Faeries.  They hide in plain sight and even offer their vision to an inquiring passerby such as myself.  The price, of course, is to sit in the tree and have your thoughts raked over.  It’s a good trade if you’re feeling up to it.  Just don’t stay too long.

April 27, 2015 - Two Oceans

There are two oceans here.  One is visible, and the other is invisible.  Both are secretly connected, with each helping to give rise to the other.  The ocean you see in the picture is the ocean of water.  This ocean moves in three ways--through currents, waves, and tides.  The ocean you can’t see in the picture is the ocean of air.  Like the ocean of water, it is in constant motion.

The currents far out in the ocean of water are driven by two tremendous wind systems known as the Trade Winds and the Westerlies.  The Trade Winds near the equator blow the ocean surface water in a westward direction.  The Westerlies in the temperate zone blow the ocean surface water in an eastward direction.  Together these two systems cause the ocean surface waters to flow in circular patterns, clockwise in the northern hemisphere and counterclockwise in the southern hemisphere.

Two oceans posing together.

But there are deep currents in the watery ocean as well, currents we can’t see with our eyes.  They’re affected by gravity, salinity, and temperature (among other things).  As the sun warms the surface water nearer the equator, it expands and creates a slope that makes it flow to cooler pole areas.  The cooler, denser water from the poles is very far beneath the surface and moves much slower than the surface water.  Gravity drives it slowly to warmer areas.  This alters the Earth’s surface temperature patterns, which in turn modify the ocean of air (which is also affected by atmospheric pressure and planet rotation), and thus the cycle continues again and again.

Admittedly, the above description is extremely basic and leaves out some major points, but it is accurate in its brief extent and helps to show how both oceans are intricately, even lovingly, connected.  But that’s much more than most people want to know about the ocean and air currents.  Still, it’s romantic somehow to see how much everything is a part of everything else.  It was Leonardo da Vinci who said, “Learn how to see.  Realize that everything connects to everything else.”

I only know that when I stand by the ocean shore, there is a constant wind--constant.  It never stops whipping about, very often moving and violently shaking my camera as it pushes me back and forth.  Leaning against one of the wooden supports you see in the picture, I was able to steady my hands enough to get what I thought was a good picture of both oceans.  Alas, the invisible ocean appears to be camera shy, and so I was only able to capture the watery ocean.  But if you look closely at the waves, you may see the wind dancing upon them in that connection da Vinci was talking about.

April 26, 2015 - Special Days

Some days don’t have any claim to fame.  In fact, most days don’t.  Most days are just ordinary days.  They’re not holidays or changes of season or of great historical importance.  Most days are just the day after the one before it.  In other words, they are completely nonspecial, completely unnoticeable.

Take today, for example.  There were no special meals or visits from friends.  The calendar didn’t have any special announcement on it.  I didn’t begin a new phase of my life today, or end a phase, for that matter.  It wasn’t a “red letter” day.  There was nothing to write home about.  If you called me up on the telephone, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything unusual about this day.

Nothing special happened today.

Except that it was a very unique day, unique in that it will never come again.  Life may be eternal, but the expressions of life are not.  They are a brief flash in the darkness.  I am an expression of life, and so are you and every other person on this planet.  We are each finite expressions.  We’re here for a very limited amount of time, and once that time is gone, it’s gone forever.  It may seem pointless to some people--why bother?  But if during this very brief time we can offer just a tiny bit of love and hope to one another, that will have made our “expression,” our blink-of-the-eye existence, worthwhile.

And that makes each day very precious and special, indeed, even if it isn’t marked on a calendar.  Never feel that you haven’t accomplished enough today, that you haven’t done as much as you should have.  Never feel that a day was wasted or pointless or useless.  Never feel that you must live only for the “special” days, those that are marked down on the calendar.  As long as you are here and expressing your own uniqueness--that singular essence that makes you different from every other person on the planet (whether you realize it or not)--then you have made it a very special day, indeed.

April 25, 2015 - My Island

I put my camera lens on zoom, almost as far as it could go so I could get a picture of this boat.  It was pretty far out.  When I got home and looked at my photos for the day, I decided there was nothing special about it at all.  However, I was astonished to see the little island behind it!  I hadn’t seen that from the shore, and if I did, I guess I didn’t pay much attention to it.  Most likely, if I saw it at all, it just seemed like a tiny little spot on the water.

But there it is--a tiny island fortress, a wild place with no human inhabitants and only a few trees to speak of.  And that means it’s perfect.  I can see my flag going up now in my own little country.  A nation within a nation.  The Isle of Melanie.  It has a ring to it.  I can draw up my own charter, make my own laws, have my own currency, set up my own courts.  No, no, I’m going about this all wrong.  I don’t want to bring my “civilization” with me, I want to transcend it!  Perhaps I’ll dress in wild animal skins a do a lot of rain dances for fresh water . . .

Of course, the faerie inhabitants of this little island might have something to say about that.  They might rightly point out that they’ve been dwelling there for a few thousand years, but what’s a few thousand years among friends?  Surely they can make room for one more inhabitant.  I’m heading out to the island.  If you don’t hear from me again, assume that I’ve gone native.

The Isle of Melanie.

April 24, 2015 - Sparkling Secrets

The air was very fresh today, and the wind was cold, as always, but welcome.  There were seagulls and ducks for companions, and the distant familiar sound of clanking bells was everywhere.  I don’t suppose a cellphone, TV, or computer mean much out on this craft, bobbing along in the windy, sparkling waves.  I guess you could drop them overboard and no one would know or care, least of all, me.

The day was brilliant, and everywhere I looked I saw the sparkling acknowledgement of the returning sun.  The land hasn’t yet caught up with the secret that the sea already knows.  The water, after all, is a mirror into the soul of the heavens, and the reflection it provides gives us a glimpse into the joy of eternal consciousness.  In time, the gulls will the spill the secret, as they always do, and the land will reflect the same treasure.

And then, finally, people will see and know that the Sun King has returned.  It’s a process that cannot be rushed.

The sparkling sea carries the secret.

April 23, 2015 - Limbo

Here we are in “limbo” again, waiting for the season to decide what it wants to do.  The snow has melted in most places, except for up north in the county.  Torrential rains have begun, and the rivers are swelling quite a bit.  Trees on the shoreline are now submerged everywhere, and hopefully they’ll survive the waterlogging.  Add a hailstorm into the mix today with hail balls over a quarter of an inch in size, and it just adds to the feeling of absolute limbo.  The ground turned white again for a few minutes, and then everything quickly melted once again.

But . . . here and there I see a bud or a little swelling on a stalk or branch.  It keeps my spirits up amid the flooding and freak hailstorms.  We are almost into May now, and at the rate we are going, the trees will not finish leafing out until the end of May/beginning of June.  We sometimes leaf out by mid-May, but only in warmer years.  This has not been a warmer year.  Still, it’s a price we pay in Maine for perfect summers.

The old folks have a saying here:  “If you can’t stand the winters, you don’t deserve the summers.”  Well, I have stood them for a good long time now, so I deserve this coming summer.

The rivers are flooding.

April 22, 2015 - Earth Day

They say today is “Earth Day,” as if it were a day different from any other day, as if it were a day set apart deliberately to be noticed.  “Happy Earth Day!” people are saying, as if it were a special holiday to mark on the calendar.  Perhaps tomorrow they will say, “Happy Mars Day!” or “Happy Jupiter Day!”  I expect either of these days to be coming soon.  After all, it would be unfair if we were to have an Earth Day and not, say, a Neptune Day or a Mercury Day.

Back to the woods I went to escape trite conversation.  I decided I would find out what day it really was by asking the forest inhabitants.  If they didn’t know, no one would.  I saw a blue jay and asked him, but he just flew on by.  I saw a snake and asked her, but she just slithered quickly away.  When I gave chase, she found an underground hideout and immediately slipped inside.  I saw a deer and asked her, but she bounded off before I even got the question out.  How was I to find out what day it really was?

The Earth Day squirrel.

I was about to give up when I found a busy squirrel.  I asked him what day it was, and he immediately turned to leave.

“Wait!!  I just want to know what day it is!” I said.  “No one will tell me what day it is!”

“Well, if you don’t know what day it is,” he said, “you must be a bit loopy, and that’s why everyone’s running.”
“Ah, so then it really is Earth Day!”

“What?”

“Earth Day,” I said, “Today is Earth Day, right?”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

Now it was my turn to ask what.  How could he not have heard of Earth Day?

“What do you mean you’ve never heard of Earth Day?” I asked.

“I’ve never heard of it.  Do you have any walnuts?”

“Earth Day is a special day,” I pressed.

“Why special?  Are there any walnuts given out on this Earth Day thing?”

“No, but it’s supposed to be special.”
“It doesn’t sound very special if there aren’t any walnuts,” he said.

“Well, it’s a day to remember the Earth.”

“What’s that?” he asked uninterestedly.

I guess he really hadn’t heard of Earth Day.  How strange to be a creature of the forest and not have heard of Earth Day.

“Well, it’s a day where we celebrate and honor where we live.”

“You celebrate your dens?” he asked.

“No, no, no.  I mean we celebrate this planet, this whole world,” I said.

He just looked at me and blinked, not understanding.

“We remember our commitment, love, and gratitude for this whole world and the life in it,” I said.

The squirrel looked at me as if I were quite mad.  He cocked his head from side to side, probably wondering whether he should high-tail it out of there in case I was somehow dangerous.  He picked up a tiny scrap of something and began munching it, looking at me curiously.

“And you need a special day to remember this?” he asked.

“Well, we don’t need it, but we have it because it kind of reminds us of it.”

“And you need to be reminded?”

Now it was my turn to just blink at him.  I cocked my head from side to side and looked around for any stray nut or seed that might have survived the winter, but alas, I found nothing.

“Earth Day is meant to be special,” I said, “so that we keep the planet--our only home, really--in mind now and then and remember to respect it.”

“Hmmm….” he said, “I think every day where I live, then, is Earth Day.  Every day is special.  When the sun comes up and warms the cold night air, it feels very special, indeed.  When I find something plump and juicy to eat, I feel very special and happy.  When I see a terrible thunder and lightning storm, I feel nothing but awe and respect, I can assure you.  When I sleep in my warm little home lined with dry straw and leaves, I feel very satisfied and content.  I love this day, and I love every day.  But…I don’t see any difference from one day to the next.  Each day, to me, seems wonderful.  But how else could a day be anything but wonderful?”

I kept picking around for nuts and seeds while I listened to him, pretending that what he was saying didn’t mean much to me, when in fact, it meant a great deal.  But if you let a squirrel know that, you’ll never hear the end of it.

“Quite right,” I said.

“No.  I think you’re stupid,” the squirrel said.

“I am not!  I’ve always known every day is special.”

“Whatever,” he said, “but there aren’t any nuts or seeds where you’re looking.  I’ve already picked that area completely clean.  You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed, you know.”

“I was just double-checking,” I said.

“Right,” he said, “Well, Happy Day to you, then.”

“Happy Day to you, too.”

And with that he scampered off.  I could have sworn I heard him saying “What a nut!” as he ran up a tree, but I can’t be entirely sure.  I was about to feel offended, but I decided that I wouldn’t let it spoil the beautiful weather.  It’s not that squirrels are rude, necessarily, but they don’t mince words either.  They call it as they see it.  Don’t ask them a question if you’re not ready to hear their answer.

I left then and went about my business.  It turned out to be a really Happy Day, just as yesterday had been and just as I am sure tomorrow will be.

April 21, 2015 - Thoughts Of The Ocean

I always wonder when I look out into the ocean if it’s looking back at me.  When I ponder the depth of its waters, does it ponder the hardness of the rocks on the shore?  When I stare out into the distance of the waves, do they stare back into the woods behind me?  When I investigate the fish and other marine creatures, does the ocean study the fur creatures on the land?

Two opposites right up against one another:  The flowing substance of water and the hardness of solid rock.  The ocean says, “Come and join me!”  The rock says, “You shall come no further.”  If we could shrink the Earth down to the size of a beach ball, the ocean would be nothing but tiny puddles in larger rocky basins.  All around and all below the ocean, we would see the rocks, like giant, strange-shaped cups.

In my mind, that solves the question of which came first.  The rocks give form to the formless.  Without containment, there could be no recognizable ocean.  Without the shape of the rocks, there is no ocean to define.  Of course, the rocks themselves were once a fiery liquid, but we do not speak of that to the ocean.  We keep that secret from her.  To the ocean, the rocks are the origin of all things, and everything must have a beginning in order to feel secure.  But to the rocks, the story is more complicated.

The rocks hem the ocean in.

April 20, 2015 - Skyline

I had climbed about 500 feet up when I took this photo.  The pines look like they’re floating in a misty sea or a smoky bog.  That’s really just all the bare branches and twigs of the deciduous trees around them, which are still bare and haven’t even begun to bud yet.  But as far as I could see, there was nothing but trees, trees, and more trees.

It’s peaceful looking down into the woods.  Sometimes I look at pictures of severely developed urban areas, and I think to myself that it couldn’t be true.  It must be a camera trick.  Surely there can’t be that many buildings and that many people, can there?  Of course, I have seen it with my own eyes, but I just don’t trust that vision anymore.  It’s like a fuzzy dream from time out of mind.  I trust the vision of the trees, instead.

The Maine skyline.

A long time ago, I was in a very large city.  Everyone kept telling me that I had to see the “skyline” of the city, that it was truly a sight to behold, that it was breathtaking and magnificent.  During the day it would be impressive and awe-inspiring, and during the night the millions of lights from all the skyscrapers would twinkle romantically for a spectacular vision.  I couldn’t wait to see it all--I just couldn’t wait!  And then I saw it.  Everyone around me “oohed and ahhed.”  Everyone was struck with the vision of the gleaming city.  Everyone but me, that is.  I just smiled and never said a word to anyone, but inside my heart crumbled and my eyes hurt.  I hated it, and I was embarrassed that someone would find out what a hick I was.

I often wonder if we see what we want to see, or at least what we think we should see.  Because we think of it, we see it.  Because we believe it, we can’t come up with any other vision.  If that’s true, then we should hold on to the visions that bring us peace and joy and let go of the expectations of lack planted in our minds by the media.  We should also cling to what is beautiful to us, and for each person that will be a different thing.  For me, it’s the trees.  There can be no finer skyline.

April 19, 2015 - Mama Ant

Even tiny ants have questions, sometimes big questions.  With their tiny little ant eyes, they look up into the sky and see the massive connections from the Heavens to the Earth. 

“Where does the great tree go, Mama?” ask the tiny little ants.

“The great tree is alive inside and out,” she replies, “and our tree is but one of countless trees.  Every cell of the great tree is pulsating, twisting, dancing, and singing.  Walk out upon the smooth bark and travel up and up and up to the light.  Feel the mild tremors of the inner workings of the tree.  Listen to the flowing sap.  Hear the tree as she breathes.

Where does the great tree go?

“Travel up and up,” Mama Ant says.  “Feel the power of the sun as it courses downward through the trunk of the great tree into the Earth.  Watch the communion between the sun and the tree as she bursts forth with green leaves, each alive with the juices of life.  Catch the wave of water as the roots pull up and drink thirstily from the sweet Earth and sweat it back into the clouds, cycling and cycling.

“Many creatures travel on the tree with you,” she says.  “All manner of creepy-crawlies, fur children, birds, funguses, and on and on make their home in the tree.  The din of life can be deafening at times.  Come and going, always coming and going.  Amidst it all, the great tree stores tremendous amounts of energy that the sun gives her with every sweet kiss they share.  Pulsing and pulsing, around and around, can you hear the energy flowing in waves, now loud, now soft?  Like a heart beat, like the tide of the ocean washing in and out, the energy pulses through the great tree.

“Travel up to the very top, to the brilliant light, to the Sun King himself,” Mama Ant says.  “The great tree goes to the Source of life itself.  Like an umbilical cord, it brings the Source down to the Earth in a Sacred Marriage, and the wheel of life keeps spinning around and around.  There is only one life in all of the universe.  We cannot create life or destroy it.  We merely continue it, dancing and dancing on the great tree.”

April 18, 2015 - Into The Woods

Give me a path into the woods any day.  Give me dirt, mud, weeds, and shade-loving ground cover.  I’ll take hills and valleys, sharp winding turns, and tree roots poking up everywhere, making the path bumpy and necessarily slow.  I’ll take the scent of decaying leaves, the creaking of trees high in the sky, and the chirping of birds.  Give me washed out areas full of muck and mire where I have to be clever and invent a way around them.  Give me furtive wildlife, sneaking in and out of trees and shrubs, daring me to follow them.  I’ll take the dappled sunlight making its way in now and then along with cold breezes.

I’ll take all of it over asphalt and concrete.  I’ll take it over clear, smooth, easy, flat paths that are paved or graveled over.  Any day of the year, I’ll settle for muddy paths in the woods over brilliant city lights and glamorous entertainment.  Anytime you name, I’ll find my fun in figuring out which bird chirped off to the left, which frog is seeking a mate, and which animal burrowed into the ground and made an interesting little den.

I don’t want fancy food or drinks will little umbrellas in them.  I don’t need fancy shoes or cars with leather interiors.  I don’t want silk trousers or hair dyes or makeup.  All I ever really want is the woods and the peace I find therein.  I’m simple like that.

Heading into the woods.

April 17, 2015 - Eider Ducks

The eider duck is a cold-loving bird that is common to Maine.  This is a male of the species, and its coloring is unmistakable and beautiful.  I like eiders because they seem to be more approachable than many other ducks and will often stop and pose for a photo.  They’re basically hams, but hey, “if you got it, flaunt it!”  And eiders definitely have it.

The female eiders are a brownish color but have the same shaped head and bill.  They are the source of the world famous eiderdown quilts and pillows.  The incredibly soft and warm down feathers from the female breast are used in these quilts and pillows.  Down feathers are the soft tiny feathers underneath the larger and coarse outer feathers.  Females pluck them out of their breasts and line their nests with them to keep the eggs warm.  These feathers are still gathered from the nests today in Scandinavia, Iceland, and Siberia in sustainable cycles in which the birds are not harmed.  An eiderdown quilt or pillow costs a fortune, though, and most feathered pillows and quilts you find on the market these days come from domestic geese.

The unmistakable eider drake.

Soon the baby ducks will be born.  I call them “corks” because that’s what they look like bobbing up and down in the water.  They are incredibly tiny and I am always afraid that the current will just tear them away and drown them.  Somehow, their moms keep them in check, though.  Very often, I’ll see a large group of female eiders surrounding a bunch of tiny corks.  They work together in groups to keep the survival rate up, and that says something about their intelligence and cooperative nature.

Eider ducks love the northern areas of the world, and you will not find them in the south.  The majority of their breeding takes place in the arctic, but they do breed in Maine, sticking to the cold Atlantic coastal areas.  Perhaps that’s why their feathers are so soft and warm.  They’ve had to adapt to the severe cold.  If you’re lucky enough to get an eiderdown quilt, treasure it and treat it as the heirloom it will certainly become.

April 16, 2015 - The Current Sea

The ocean has a way of stripping from you all the trappings of life.  All the distractions, all the glitter, and all the diversions melt away at the sight of the ocean.  All the complications, interruptions, and commotions disappear when facing the ocean.  All the interference, entertainment, and preoccupations fade quickly away with the onset of the waves.  Nothing can lie to the ocean.  Nothing can get in its way.  Everything is stripped down to the bone by the ocean and then washed clean.

That’s why I head to the ocean whenever I’m confused.  Whenever I need to think or figure a problem out, I go to the ocean.  When my thoughts are foggy and my understanding falters, I go straight away to the waves because I know they’ll get to the bottom of things for me.  I know that nothing can stand against the ocean.

So that’s where I went today, weighed down heavily with my manmade problems.  Attached to my foot was a thick and heavy rusted chain, and attached to the chain was a heavy, rusty iron ball.  I walked slowly because my burden was so heavy.  Each step I took was painful as I dragged the huge iron ball behind me.  It scraped on the ground as I walked, digging a trench.  I wondered that if I were to walk back and forth dragging the large iron ball behind me--back and forth, back and forth--would I be able to dig my own grave?

The current sea.

Down to the ocean I went, close to the waves, dragging the iron ball behind me.  I stood there and looked out at the waves as they crashed in.  It was high tide, and piles and piles of shells were strewn about the beach.  I just stared and waited for the voice.

“Who are you?” the ocean asked.

I said my name, not even sure if that was my name anymore, really, so confused I was with the world and my situation.

“Who are you?” it asked again.

“I am,” was all I said.

“And why have you come?”

“I don’t know anymore,” I said.  “I’m sad and uncertain and tired.  I can’t keep doing this.”

The waves crashed in.  When they reached the iron ball, I felt a slight coolness slip over my feverish thoughts.  I felt a slight relief as the water washed over the iron ball, a slight clearing of my heart.

“And why have you come?” the ocean asked again.

Then I remembered why I had come, but I felt a bit foolish standing there in front of the greatest power in the world, attempting to explain my feeble little manmade problems.  I thought of how stupid I must look.

“And why have you come?” came the question yet again.

So I told the ocean my problem.  It was a stupid problem, a manmade problem about money, or the lack thereof, actually.  I told the ocean about my fears, about my anxiety, about this foolish money problem.  And even as I said it, I felt like a great fool.

The waves crashed in again and washed over the iron ball.  The water was so very cold--numbing, actually.  It could easily cause hypothermia within seconds, but my mind and heart were so feverish that I welcomed it.  The hot and tortured skin around my ankle from the old rusty chain felt blissful and relieved with each wave.

Then the ocean spoke:

“There are cosmic laws governing the tidal movement of gold, and this is understood by very few.  Gold is a symbol mankind uses for human energy, and it can only be acquired by an expenditure of that energy.  Therefore, life force can be transmuted into gold, and that gold can be stored up and used later.  It represents the output of human energy or work.

“Paper notes, or money as they are called, used to represent gold, i.e., one dollar’s worth of gold, five dollars’ worth of gold, twenty dollars’ worth of gold, etc.  These paper notes could be traded in at any time for the full amount of gold they represented, the full amount of human energy.  And as long as this was true, people could be assured of trading their life force for the things and sustenance they needed.

“Then a trick was played, a dirty trick, indeed.  At some point, the notes no longer represented the gold, and there was no gold to back them up.  Therefore, the notes no longer represented human energy expenditure but became their own entity.  Then the connection between life force and gold to money was severed, and thus began the bizarre idea of collecting the paper notes for their own sake and not as part of the underground tidal movement of gold.  Soon people found themselves desiring the map instead of the territory it represented.

“The paper notes no longer represent human energy and life force.  There are those who sit in lofty offices and make millions and millions of paper notes, and yet they expend only a fraction of the energy that, say, a bricklayer might expend, who earns far fewer paper notes.  In the money system, some people’s life force is not worth as much as others.  Of course, that is a lie.  It has all become an illusion, and mankind keeps racing around and around the illusion.

“But there are things that are not illusions, and you know what these things are.  Life force manifests not only as energy on the physical plane but as intelligence and knowledge on the mental plane.  True wealth lies in the land, not in bank notes, and in the ability to use that land in manifestation of the life force.  True wealth lies in the animals and plant life around you, in the ability to coax forth the gifts of the earth.”

I wasn’t sure I understood everything I had heard, but my heart felt lighter and my mind felt more at ease.  My problems were not magically cured and did not disappear, but they no longer had power over me.  They were simply part of a manmade game gone terribly wrong long ago.

I looked down at my foot, never realizing before how easy it was to simply remove it from the chains.  I slipped out quickly and cleanly.  The ocean washed the cuts clean, and I left the iron ball on the beach.  Then I went home and made tea and biscuits.  The stored energy from the flour in the biscuits and the sugar in the tea reached my body and warmed me thoroughly.  The energy from the sun--the life force--had been stored in the grain and the sugar, and then I consumed it and made it a part of me.

The tides of energy are all around us.  They come in and they go out.  They bring in and they take away.  There are cosmic laws governing these tides, which are predictable and reliable.  It is these tides, these waves, we must learn to ride.

April 15, 2015 - Make Way For Spring!

Each day the rivers run freer and faster, having lost most or all of their ice.  The currents are strong and dangerous as the melting water heads downward from the mountains to the rivers, lakes, and streams below.  Eventually the rivers will pour their bounty out into the Atlantic.  It almost seems as if the water is smiling as it races by, having been frozen and locked for so long.  It speeds with an urgency not seen in summer and fall.

Spring in Maine is not a gradual occurrence.  We do not get a slow warming trend that step by step leads to a glowing and beautiful spring.  In Maine, spring happens all at once.  It is an immediate occurrence.  Yes, there is a initial stage where the ice recedes a bit, but that cannot be called spring because the land is still barren and terribly cold.  In Maine, we jump from a very long winter that ends one day to a spring that begins the next day.

Some Canada geese enjoying the sun.

The sun is angling much higher in the sky now.  It’s rising in a different location and setting in a different location.  Only a month or so ago, I could see the sun rising early in the morning through a certain spot in the trees, and I photographed it quite often because it was so beautiful to see.  Now that spot has been abandoned, and the sun has moved quite a bit to the left.  It’s warmer outside, too, and that’s very inviting after such a long and cold winter.

The vegetation has not returned yet, although a couple of brave crocuses have popped their pretty little purple heads up.  My eyes drink in the sight of these flowers as if they were a masterpiece hanging in the Louvre.  A tiny crocus, a flower that most people wouldn’t even notice, becomes an exquisite work of art to me.  It looks so foreign in its still-gray and barren landscape, but its presence is like a heralding trumpet shouting, “Make way for spring!  Make way for spring!”

And the Canada geese have returned.  I saw the first famous V-formation flock flying north over my head just a week ago.  Yes, I think it’s safe to say that spring is here.

April 14, 2015 - I Saw The Sun King!

There may still be snow on the banks of the rivers and a few icebergs here and there.  There may be a thin covering of snow still in the woods.  There may be an odd, grotesquely melted, dirty snow mountain here and there.  BUT, the last vestiges of the Lord of Winter are vaporizing and going back to whence they came.  Out of nothing came the snow, and back to nothing it goes.  Where that is, we won’t worry about for another half a year.

Now the strength of the Sun King grows by leaps and bounds.  His hair gleams like spun gold.  His armor sparkles like diamonds.  Once shy and coy and tremulous, now he struts about arrogantly, daring anyone to defy him, challenging every living being, staring down any hint of opposition.  Being a creature of the dark half of the year, I thought I would stand up to him.  I thought I would shake my fist at him and turn my face from his brilliance.  I thought I would meet his challenge and stand firm. 

The Sun King is everywhere now.

 

But I was wrong.  I was unprepared for how much he had grown in strength.  I was unprepared for the response of the woodland creatures to his command.  I was unprepared for his mesmerizing brilliance.  I found myself falling under his spell.  I found myself deeply enveloped in an intoxicating feeling of warmth and a vision of ease and plenty.  I found myself hypnotized by his incredible beauty.  And I was guilty.

I thought I might follow the receding snow and accompany it to wherever it goes, but it has gone on without me.  I looked away for just a moment to drink in the splendor of the Sun King, and when I looked back, the snow had left.  It is returning to the Lord of Winter, and I can only hope it will forget my transgression.  Somehow, I doubt it.  There is a perfect accounting system in this Universe, after all.

But I saw the Sun King!  So who cares?!  I will pay my debt another time!  (With interest, I am sure.)

April 13, 2015 - Head Of Tide Daydreams

This area is known as the Head of Tide.  It’s a 15-foot waterfall that separates the tidal portion from the fresh water portion of the Cathance River.  The Cathance eventually flows to the Merrymeeting Bay, which is fed by five other rivers as well.  The combination of fresh and salt water flowing in and out of the bay makes it “brackish” and home to many rare plant species.

The Head of Tide is always great at this time of year.  The water is flowing so tremendously fast that I just get lost in watching it, and listening to it is mesmerizing.  Time seems to pass very quickly, and unusually so.  But that’s water for you, and you know how I feel about water if you’ve been reading any of these journal entries.  Somehow the faeries use it to their advantage and play tricks with our daydreams . . .

The 15-foot waterfall at the Head of Tide.

When the green fills in, this place is magical, and once you come here, it’s hard to leave.  It makes you want to sneak out along the banks and build a secret encampment.  Yes, an encampment, perhaps somewhat underground with a small top portion that has sod over it and looks like part of the woods around it so no one can detect it.  Yeah, that’s it, and we’ll grow food in a nearby field and stash it along with water in a sub-basement of our encampment.  We’ll heat the ground floor with wood.  There’s plenty of wood for the taking in the surrounding area . . .

Let’s see . . . we’ll need candles.  Or maybe we could put something solar in, as long as it’s disguised and no one can find it.  We’ll have to dig a well, but that shouldn’t be too difficult as there’s plenty of water around here.  We can use the fresh water portion of the Cathance until it freezes anyhow, and ice can be melted, and . . . we’ll hunt and we’ll fish . . . and we’ll need some clothes so we’ll have to raise some sheep for the wool, and . . .

And that’s what happens when you go to the Head of Tide and you start daydreaming.  The faeries have their way with you every time . . .

April 12, 2015 - The Androscoggin Is Running

What a difference two weeks can make.  What a difference!  We went from a semi-frozen world to a semi-thawed world.  There’s a difference there, even though the terms toy with one another.  This picture shows the water running freely along a small portion of the Androscoggin River, a place where I like to hide and think.  The name “Androscoggin” is an Abenaki word that means “river of cliff rock shelters,” and I would say it is appropriately named.  Further down near the dam, the water is rushing tremendously!

The Androscoggin used to be a polluted river because of paper mills, but that has changed dramatically and it is once again fresh and clean.  The bass fishing is really good.  Animal life is returning in droves after the long winter, and in listening to the sound of the river as I walk, I hear yet another voice that says, “Spring!”

Goodbye to the ice!

April 11, 2015 - The Dignity of Simplicity

I was reminded today of the dignity of simplicity.  Simplicity, especially in its extreme, can be nothing other than dignified.  Dignity is what makes one worthy of honor and respect.  When we take away the “bells and whistles,” the colorful ribbons, the sequins and glitter and rhinestones, what do we have left but the raw and naked character of any object or person?  I do not think there can be anything more dignified than that.

When there are no veils to hide behind, there is truth and honesty and simplicity.  And this is dignity.  Dignity is nobility and gentility of bearing, and this is found in its purest form in simplicity.  Simplicity does not lie or put on airs.  Indeed, it cannot do so for it would be found out immediately.

There is more dignity in a crust of bread eaten solemnly in appreciation and gratitude than in the richest of foods consumed in lavish and extravagant surroundings.  There is an elevation of character and worthiness in all things that embrace simplicity.  When applied to a person, it is sublime.  It says, “This is who I am.  I have nothing more to give you, but there is nothing to take away either.  I am authentic.”

I have nothing more to give you, but nothing less either.

April 10, 2015 - Thoughts In The Mist

What I was thinking as things passed in and out of the mist today is that the mist is very much like the thing that’s in between our thoughts.  What I mean is, I could stand and stare out into the mist and not see very much.  Then a bird would fly through the mist.  I’d watch it for a while, and then it would disappear again--back into the mist.  I’m not sure where it came from or where it went, and I’ll most likely never see it again.  Sometimes the outline of a bird could be seen coming toward me, but it never quite made it through the mist.  Then it veered its course and disappeared again, never quite making an entrance or an exit, just existing as a temporary shadow of what I thought it might be.

The things that came into my vision--birds (birds at this time of year, but sometimes boats and seals and buoys, etc., at other times)--are what I compare to my thoughts.  My thoughts flit in and out of my attention.  Some are very strong and obvious and clear.  Others fly on the periphery and are very shadowy and difficult to see.  Like the birds, I often do not know what direction my thoughts will come from, how long they’ll stay, and when they’ll leave.

Mind stuff.

Unless I make a conscious effort to control them, that is.  Unless I decide which thoughts will enter, how long they’ll stay, and when they’ll have to go in order to accomplish a particular goal.  It’s possible, but it takes effort and concentration, and it isn’t something that can be done constantly.  Only then do my thoughts differ from the birds.  Ordinarily, however, they are exactly the same.

But what are the thoughts and the birds flying in and out of?  What are they hiding in?  What is disguising them?  For the birds, that’s easy.  It’s the mist, the fog, the vapor of the water below.  For our thoughts, it’s similar.  It’s a mist-like substance within our brains.  We could call it the “mind.”  The mind is a mist.  It is separate from the brain.  The brain is the physical entity, like the water in the ocean.  The mind exists in the same place as the brain, but it is not a physical entity like the brain.  It is more like the mist.  But just because you can’t hold it, doesn’t mean it isn’t real.  The mind, like the mist (which is usually invisible), is very real.  And like the mist, it is the same substance as the brain, but on a different level, having been transmuted.

Remember what I said about water.  The Great Alchemist is at work here.  The mist and the mind are supporting reality, deciding what we will and will not see.  Because if we do not see it, if we do not acknowledge it, it is not there.  At least not for us.  The eyes are the easiest sense to trick and not much good in a fog.  Rely, instead, on your other senses.  He with ears, let him hear.