SOUNDS THAT TOUCH THE SOUL

SOLITUDE

“Hear that lonely whippoorwill,

He sounds too blue to fly,

The midnight train is whining low”

The opening lines to the classic country song, I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry, by Hank Williams evokes memories of hearing that provocative sound in the very still of the night.  I remember hearing that sound as a child in bed since we lived within about a mile from a train crossing in Kansas.  The wind had to be in the right direction to hear it that far away, which made it evoke a sense of spiritual resonance.  That sound of a train whistle at major crossways can only resonate at a distance and usually late at night.  If it’s carried on a strong north wind in winter time the feeling is even more emotional.  I hadn’t heard the sound for many years after leaving home, but now I can hear it once again here at home in North Carolina.  It not only conjures up the same emotions, but also memories of my long-ago childhood.  It’s one of those extraordinary sounds that touches the soul.  And it can trigger nostalgia, remembering who we were and validating our own identity. 

That sound evoked loneliness in old Hank and obviously many others related to the lyrics.  But loneliness is a state of sadness, while solitude is a healthy state of meaningful self-reflection.  It’s a state of being alone without being lonely.  You can be lonely in a crowd, but you can’t experience solitude there. 

There are some other sounds that have the capacity to touch the solitary soul and evoke emotions of well being at the deepest level of human life.  One of the first that comes to mind is another one from my childhood of sitting on a dock and hearing the call of a distant loon over a moonlit placid Minnesota Northwoods lake.  I’ve been walking up a vanishing windrow of midwestern hedge trees hunting bob white quail and hearing their calls as they gather the covey together.  And many of us have quietly listened to the soft coo of mourning doves at daylight.  Then there’s the rhythmic song of cicadas in the trees on summer evenings while sitting with family outside on a wrap-around porch.  I’ve also been sitting on a rural river bank at sunset while the crickets and frogs serenaded all of us.  And who of us has been touched by the experience of sitting near the ocean at any time of the day apart from the noise of civilization and hearing the rhythm of the breaking waves on shore that takes us back to the first nine months of life in the watery womb?

A few other sounds that have touched my soul include the wind and ancestral spirits racing through pine needles at the ancient Mesa Verde ruins in Colorado, standing on the prairies of eastern Colorado and western Kansas and hearing the distant thunder of an approaching summer storm, and standing outside our home in central Kansas as a winter snow mixed with sleet gently falls upon frozen ground.  Distant church bells and windchimes touch my soul along with the whirring drone of an overhead airplane that slowly fades away along with all of nature on a late autumn afternoon.

It occurs to me that all of these reflective sounds that have touched deep within my soul were experienced outside in God’s creation.  Perhaps that’s why I still enjoy the solitude of being there.

A THREAD RUNS THROUGH IT

Fly Fishing, Missoula, Montana

Spirit Line, Four Corners NM

We all unconsciously weave a tapestry of life with a thread of infinite length which supersedes this mortal life.

Joseph Campbell encourages us to “Follow your bliss. If you do follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while waiting for you, and the life you ought to be living is the one you are living. When you can see that, you begin to meet people who are in the field of your bliss, and they open the doors to you. I say, follow your bliss and don’t be afraid, and doors will open where you didn’t know they were going to be. If you follow your bliss, doors will open for you that wouldn’t have opened for anyone else…People say what we're all seeking is the meaning of life...I think what we're seeking is the experience of being alive."  

Life is a great adventure and death is the last great adventure. In the meantime, we are in pursuit of the divine that is within all of us and the fulfillment that the adventure brings. Campbell notes that if you have embarked on a well-worn path, it is not your path. Seek out your own path in life that has been mapped out exclusively for you. When your life seems to be in rhythm with the heartbeat of the universe, you have found your path to divine destiny.

Robert Frost concluded his famous poem The Road Less Taken with:

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

The Pulitzer Prize nominated book by Norman Maclean titled A River Runs Through It and the subsequent movie directed by Robert Redford illuminated the spiritual experience of fly fishing on a Montana trout river for an American family.  Once immersed in the experience their soul became one with their beautiful environment.

“Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.  I am haunted by waters.”

The river less traveled is where we’re meant to be.

Jill Bolte Taylor writing in My Stroke of Insight perceived life through the restricted lens of only her right brain after a stroke incapacitated her left hemisphere. She observed that her self-concept was no longer a solid with boundaries, but a fluid. Operating without the constant "brain chatter" from her left hemisphere left her feeling one with the universe. Mystics and serious practitioners can also reach that ultimate present moment state of nirvana. Could it be that we are all in fact continuously in that state, but we simply do not generally experience that awareness?

"My left hemisphere had been trained to perceive myself as a solid, separate from others. Now, released from that restrictive circuitry, my right hemisphere relished in its attachment to the eternal flow. I was no longer isolated and alone. My soul was as big as the universe and frolicked with glee in a boundless sea… Our right brain perceives the big picture and recognizes that everything around us, about us, among us, and within us is made up of energy particles that are woven together into a universal tapestry. Since everything is connected, there is an intimate relationship between the atomic space around and within me, and the atomic space around and within you—regardless of where we are."

We are not only IN this universe, but we are OF this universe. In Paul's letter to the Ephesians he writes, "There is one body and one spirit...one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all (4:4-5)."

Perceived from the altitude of a commercial airliner, rivers that crisscross this great planet have the look of threads that wind their way back to their origins in the vast oceans.  So too, the threads of our lives follow the path of our destiny into the eternal flow.  

All creative artists put their heart and soul into their unique works.  Navajo weavers are no exception and frequently add what seems to be a flaw or mistake.  We almost passed on purchasing a rug years ago because of this anomaly. Only later did we discover that this “spirit line” or thread was purposely woven into a corner of the rug to allow the artist’s spirit an exit path once the rug (or the life) was completed.

 

FOREST BATHING

Blue Ridge Forest, NC

The Japanese Art of Shinrin-Yoku

 

Growing up in the central Kansas heartland of America instilled in me a sense of wonder and awe for the grand skyscapes that offered a wide panorama of deep blue sunny days interspersed with immense roiling thunder clouds.  So, I was never introduced to the experience of walking under vast canopies of towering trees until much later in life.  I’ve written many times since then about varied experiences of being outside in nature hunting along the rolling prairies, fishing along serene creeks and rivers, walking the beaches of the Atlantic, Pacific and Gulf coasts and hiking in the mountains across this vast country.

 

But it was only recently here in North Carolina that I discovered the Japanese term of shinrin-yoku, meaning forest bath, as we experience life under the canopy of cascading forest trees.  It’s been noted that we human beings have evolved our body and brain out in nature for 99.9% of our existence.  Most Americans now spend 93% of our time inside or in vehicles.  Prior to the advent of air conditioning, we would spend more time outside, but now we leave our air-conditioned homes to drive to our destinations in air-conditioned vehicles and enter urban air-conditioned buildings.  Our technology and fast paced lives have isolated us from nature and contributed to aggravated conditions such as cancer, strokes, higher blood pressure, ulcers, depression, anxiety, and compromised immune systems.

 

The Japanese formally embraced and defined Forest Bathing as one means of social prescribing activities to counter the effects of modern life and there is evidence that the benefits are worth pursuing.  A casual, meditative walk in the woods is a way to regain balance and temporarily escape the stress of everyday life.  And a chemical that is released by trees and plants called phytoncides has been found to bolster the immune system.  Organic compounds, pollen, fungi and bacteria contribute to the micro-organisms we humans need for a robust and diverse microbiome.  We can inhale their exhalation and exhale their inhalation as we coexist symbiotically.  The art of Forest Bathing is not a cure for illness but it can be a proactive preventative.  And it is a great place to commune with our Creator. 

 

This forest therapy can heighten our awareness of the present moment through our five senses by taking in the bathing impressions of nature all around us without the interfering noise of modern life.  And once we establish a calming quiet place in nature, we can always return there, if only in our mind.      

A walk in the woods,

The art of Forest Bathing,

Return to nature.

DISTANT SOCIALIZING IN NATURE

NATIVE ARROWHEAD, Kansas Flint Hills

Ironically as I write this post, I’m joined by most of the world this April 2020 as we shelter in place and social distance from one another in hopes of slowing the COVID-19 viral pandemic.  The virus primarily spreads as humans come in close contact with one another by coughing, sneezing, hugging and shaking hands.  But there is no danger in venturing outside by ourselves and experiencing the spirit of our creator on the winds.

As a youth, I loved to roam outside in the Kansas Flint Hills amid the wind blowing unchallenged through the tall grass prairies and along the rim rock edges of the grassy hills where grazing Herford cattle had replaced wild buffalo.  That experience nurtured a new found love of the land that has stayed with me all my life.  Many of these adventures included having a shotgun over my shoulder in anticipation of the exploding rush of pheasants, prairie chickens, ducks, and coveys of quail.  I spied a flint arrowhead on the ground on one outing that had possibly been launched by a lone kindred spirit onto the south wind, flying on a feathered wooden shaft in pursuit of the same small wild game that I was hunting.  I always admired the native Indians’ respect and stewardship for the land and their ritual of offering up a prayer for the spirit that had given its life to sustain theirs.  Their existence was entirely outside in nature, enabling them to relate to the oneness of the universe and possess an acute appreciation for the gift of life. 

These native people living in a rather pristine land had no concern for pandemics.  The diseases that later decimated their tribes were carried and transmitted by intruders from across the oceans.  Those people had lived in crowded areas during a period with no means to stop a pandemic from spreading.  Fortunately, we have now evolved into a time of scientific knowledge with the ability to develop vaccines and therapeutics and even social apps like FaceTime and Zoom.   And one of the best ways of coping with this quarantine is to venture out into nature and distant socialize with our creator.

HIGH-COUNTRY SUMMER’S DAY

Mountain Sun, Vail, CO.

Mountain Rain, Vail, CO.

Gentle breezes move in a Bernoulli fashion through the valley.  The light green aspen leaves shimmer in dappled sunlight contrasted by the pastel white branches.  The slow but relentless waters of fresh snowmelt runoff gurgles over the boulders that have been “tumble polished” by centuries of wear.  Swift swallows dart in and out over the water which is moving along in the deeper side of the creek.  A trio of black crows soar into the pine trees as the wind slices through the green needles.  Then they glide down to the smoothly ground rocks on the shallower dry side of the summer stream to sort out their next move.  After much agitation and arguing, they seem to make peace with one another and elect to fly away up into the aspens as a golden eagle catches a thermal updraft and soars high above them.  

  

Cyclists silently roll over the designated paved paths near the water’s edge regaled in full gear.  The knobby tired rental bikes are designed for mountain trails that beckon downhill racers and uphill enthusiasts.  Gondolas are constantly migrating in silent procession up and down the mountain side on invisible cables in the distance.  The silence is only broken when they pass over the stalwart iron posts that support them. 

The soothing sound of Gore Creek never ends, unlike the repeating sound of ocean waves rhythmically washing onto sandy beaches.  The song of the mountain stream is punctuated by the innocent voices of small children playing in the crisp air over a swimming pool.  They shout and giggle as they tread the water’s surface on tubes and arm floats. 

A large stand of aspen trees with their straight white narrow trunks lines the mountain side near the creek, as higher elevation green pine trees receive the baton and transition on up the slopes.  Swaths of green meadows laced with red Indian Paintbrush belie the rapid activity of skiers in the wintertime.  The slate and green metal roofs of mountain homes can be seen jutting through the aspen and pines between the mountain stream and the ski slopes.  Mankind has imposed his will on these pristine highlands as well, but the natives have embraced the notion of living in harmony with nature and designing homes that harmonize with their environment.

John Denver’s high-country anthem, Rocky Mountain High, bemoans the sight of “more scars across the land”, but responsible developers can also attract people who grow to know and love this mountain life and thus live in concert with the land while working to preserve it.  I’ve always embraced the revelation that John experienced upon coming to this place on earth and realizing that he was “coming home to a place he’d never been before.”  Some folks say that also applies to heaven.  This is a place where “you can talk to God and listen to the casual reply.”

The late afternoon winds suddenly begin to gust as the aspen leaves shimmer even faster.  A rain shower swiftly moves through the valley as native Indian fire spears strike the higher elevations and booming thunder drums resonate off the opposing mountain sides.  Then as the showers pass, sunbeams from the lowering sun are split in the prisms of a legion of rain drops to reveal a brightly colored rainbow drifting away across the valley.  And as daylight recedes a starry, starry night high above the pollution of city lights appears and “the shadow from the starlight is softer than a lullaby.”  

BEING ALIVE

Flying High, Jamestown, NC

Joseph Campbell dedicated his life’s work to studying and teaching comparative mythology and religion, encompassing many aspects of the human experience. He has written that "People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life. I don't think that's what we're seeking. I think what we're seeking is an experience of being alive." He encourages us to “Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls…The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe, to match your nature with Nature.”

Changing seasons always give pause to contemplate our place in the universe and our destiny, especially the Fall season of shorter days and cooler nights. All surrounding Nature is quietly winding down and withdrawing from the vibrant days of summer growth in anticipation of the fallow season to come. We humans subconsciously understand this as we move about in Nature, synching our heartbeat with the rhythm of life on this planet.

I walked onto a golf course practice range early one morning and casually asked an attendant how it was going. His reply caught me off guard, since I was expecting the standard “OK”. Everybody has something going on in their life and nobody expects to sit down and talk about it, let alone listen to it in the middle of a busy day. But the guy looked me in the eye and said “Well I woke up on the green side again today, so it’s going to be a fantastic day after that great start!” This man practiced the art of seeking the experience of being alive and appreciating it!

I’m consciously working on the concept with a little more intention this Fall as I just completed another trip around the sun totaling over seventy revolutions. I’m not necessarily looking for death defying experiences, although those most certainly have left me with a very acute appreciation for being alive over the years. Our culture is fast paced and rampant with auditory and visual distractions. Even so, when we find the time to stop the music and exit the merry-go-round, we don’t always pause to give thanks for this life and being alive. And many times we must be intentional in seeking those experiences of being alive so that we can be fully appreciative of the limited time we have to follow our bliss. As the old saying goes, today’s the first day of the rest of my life.

SOUNDTRACK OF A LIFE

Beach Sounds, Wrightsville Beach, NC

Have you ever stopped the music, grabbed the nearest chair, put your life on rewind and just reflected about the soundtrack of your life? As life moves along we’re exposed to a plethora of sounds and many of them become woven into the tapestry of our being. They’re as much a part of our life as the familiar places and comfort food we enjoy. And all of the non-verbal sounds including instrumental music are part of the universal language in everyone’s life.

The obvious first impression is all the music that has shaped who you are and who you will still become. Early childhood music and songs still ring with nostalgia when you attend a children’s choir performance. Then there’s the popular music that became an obsession during our teen years. I grew to appreciate the Beach Boys, Bob Marley and James Taylor much more after we moved to the Carolina’s. That was followed by possibly more reserved jazz, classical or even alternative sounds. Our senior years hopefully are filled with a wide variety of music including the recall of old hymns to complete a life well lived. That certainly includes listening to the comfort music that conjures up many of our milestone moments and experiences of the past. In fact, last year marked the first time in U.S. history that catalogue albums out sold new releases. Nostalgia is in the air waves!

Then there are the voices of the past that always give us pause to reflect. Voices such as television anchors that we listened to for years and years during the dinner hour. Familiar voices of movie stars that we enjoyed watching in a variety of roles and emotional situations become as recognizable as those of close friends and family members. Actually, we still have the opportunity to listen to those voices that have been archived on celluloid film even more than those of folks that we actually knew in real life. Popular sportscasters were people that we also spent a considerable amount of time watching and listening to on radios and televisions. These people never knew us, but we were very familiar with them and their voices. Have you ever finally met a radio personality that you listened to for years and found that they didn’t look anything like the image you had in your mind?

The sounds of nature can be very unique to a time and place. I’ll always have an imprint of the piercing screech of a golden eagle soaring over a Rocky Mountain canyon, the taunting caw of a flock of crows hassling a red tail hawk in a grove of walnut trees, or the plaintive call of sea gulls as they glide along the edges of a windswept beach. I will always recall the lonesome sound of a loon at evening time across a placid moonlit Minnesota lake in late spring. Then there’s the distant gathering cries of migrating flocks of geese overhead on a chilly late autumn night as a cold front drives them south on a strong northerly wind. And I still have vivid memories of listening to coyotes calling from hill to hill around the family farm on a humid summer’s night in the central Kansas Flint Hills.

There are even inanimate sounds that enter into our lives like a comfortable pair of blue jeans. Who cannot feel nostalgic when hearing the distant whistle of a train in the dark hours of the night? And the sound of rain gently falling on a windowpane can really leave you in a melancholy mood. Water rushing down a rocky mountain stream and waves lapping onto a sandy beach never lose their calming effect. And neither does the sound of wind moving through the tall grass prairie or high country pine needles and rustling aspen leaves. The approaching sound of ominous thunder in the distance as it gains momentum always stirs up long forgotten fears buried deep within our prehistoric DNA.

We consciously and subconsciously find comfort and solace in all of these sounds as they complete the unique playlist for the soundtrack of a life.

RECLAMATION

Ghost House, Gibsonville, NC

Nature reclaims the land from mans' intrusion, beginning the slow,
relentless process of restoring the environment back to it's natural state.

SUMMER ROSE

Summer Rose, Jamestown, NC

Don't overlook the beauty that exists just outside your back door.

NATURE'S MUSIC

Sound Waves, Wrightsville Beach, NC

Nature frequently offers up beautiful, soulful music whenever we escape from the constant external noise pollution and internal ego chatter.

GRIZABELLA SNOWFLOWER

Summer Sunflower, Jamestown, NC
Winter Snowflower, Jamestown, NC

Given the choice between a Broadway musical and a PGA tour event, I’ll take the golf tickets to the corporate tent. But living with the fairer sex for forty years did expose me to some of the finer things in life which I actually enjoyed including good musical entertainment with heart touching story lines and lyrics like Jesus Christ Superstar, Les Miz, Phantom of the Opera, Evita, Annie, and yes, Cats. There were poignant moments in all of these experiences that made you stop the music and reflect on your life. It also didn’t hurt that my daughter performed in many of these musicals as a teenager and was a joy to watch.

I had one of those moments in the middle of a dark sunflower field this morning. The first major winter storm of the season roared through the Carolinas last night bringing heavy rain turning to freezing rain, sleet, wet snow and power outages. Rare claps of thundersnow issued fatalistic warnings which the natives claim will foretell another winter storm in ten days. I had previously photographed the sunflower field in the prime of summer’s golden glory and happened upon one particular sunflower on the far edge of the field that was entwined in morning glory vines that highlighted this one creation for its unique beauty.

As I later drove past the field, it had occurred to me that the blackened plants might be interesting to photograph against a white blanket of fresh snow. Once I had shoveled the snow accumulation off my driveway, I gathered up my camera gear and drove off to fulfill the promise of another photo op. Fortunately, the rising morning sunbeams were beginning to warm the road surfaces, but nature’s organic surfaces still held the wet snow that had clung to all surfaces overnight, including the sunflower field. As I began looking through the camera lens for images that might prove interesting, I slowly made my way through the frozen field. And then while scanning the bowed heads for something out of the ordinary, the very same sunflower that had caught my eye this summer came into my view finder. The image with now barren vines immediately reminded me of one of the principal Jellicles in the musical Cats--Grizabella.

Grizabella had once enjoyed a life of carefree youthful exuberance amid the tribe of Jellicle cats, but they had shunned her in her waning years. Her decrepit and faded appearance at the Jellicle Ball in the junk yard initially did nothing to raise her stock as she vied to be the one chosen to go to the Heaviside Layer and be reborn to a new Jellicle Life. But the haunting lyrics of the song she sang about her memory of better days and hope for a new restored life won them over to her side. The faded sunflower surely was alone in the moonlight last night as withered leaves collected at her feet and the wind began to moan when the winter storm rapidly descended on the Jellicle field. When the dawn came, the street lights died and the night became just another memory. A new day heralding new life had begun as the morning glory blooms had been transformed and bright sunshine revealed a glimmering pure white robe cloaked around the renewed snowflower as her memory of days in the sun lives on.

DON’T GIVE UP

Hanging On, Jamestown, NC

Early morning temperatures this Thanksgiving week hover around the freezing mark heralding the onset of winter. Free falling leaves have been spiraling down for weeks as the life sustaining sap is withdrawn back into the core of the trees. All of nature is bracing for the fallow season of freezing weather and cold north winds. And yet, as I gazed up into the naked branches of a clump birch this morning, there are still a handful of leaves that tenaciously cling to the branches. These spirits of the forest know that the race is won by those who strive in the face of adversity; those who spend themselves in a worthy cause; those who exert the greatest enthusiasm; those who know the triumph of high achievement and at least if they fail, know that if they have given life their best shot they will never be with those timid souls who will never know neither victory or defeat. They’re hanging in there and hanging on!

I love the quotation from Calvin Coolidge that I kept with me all through my professional business career. Our 30th president stated that “Nothing in the world can take the place of perseverance. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent”. It’s been said that skid row is full of talented, educated, intellectuals who lacked the prime asset of perseverance. Persistence is a great equalizer when it is applied with more grit and determination than your competitor or oppressor. Don’t give up when you have something left to give. Nothing is really finished until you quit trying. Jimmy Valvano said it best during his 1993 ESPY speech as he fought the good fight against cancer when he left us with the admonition, “Don’t give up…Don’t ever give up”!

SEVENTY YEAR GIFT

Autumn Rain Shower, Jamestown, NC

On the Occasion of the First Day of my Seventieth Year on the Planet

I spent the entire morning at my church yesterday presenting the message for our annual stewardship campaign. I enjoyed the experience as it really was the culmination of a lifetime occupied with business, family, spirit, and learning. Our team’s message this year is how God’s overflowing blessings of grace have touched our lives to enable us to act as the vessels of clay that can in turn pour out additional blessings to others in need of both material and spiritual nourishment.

I had risen earlier than usual this morning since I had spent all yesterday afternoon outside in my yard celebrating the glorious fall weather and balancing my morning time spent indoors. It wasn’t that I was so anxious to rise early on a Monday as that my body was in a bit of revolt from the excessive physical labor of planting, raking and pruning which I enjoy. Sometimes the best way to cope with life is to simply focus on the task at hand, get a “good kind of tired” night’s sleep and vow to try again tomorrow. I’ve always liked the closing lines of Voltaire’s Candide after he’s been confronted with all the woes of the world. He acknowledges the brokenness, but responds to his mentor Pangloss with the enigmatic precept that “we must now cultivate our garden”.

So, fortunately, I was up and drinking my morning coffee when a lifelong friend called to wish me a Happy Seventieth Birthday! At this point in life, I try to appreciate every present moment on the green side and the occasion of my seventieth birthday had quite frankly escaped me. Life has been relatively good when viewed from the perspective of the reality of the temporary, broken world we inhabit. And I’m still able to acquire my few needs as they arise, so birthday presents aren’t highly anticipated at this stage. I did, however, receive a book gift card from my daughter and son-in-law, quietly delivered by the UPS guy in brown soon after the call, which was nice. I’ll have it redeemed by sundown!

It’s been a dry season for most parts of the country and the small patch of the earth that I tend was showing signs of stress as I toiled in my yard yesterday. I was satisfied with my labors and retired at nightfall, but I’ve learned that no amount of watering from my insignificant little garden hose can ever match a good soaking rainfall. And then at morning’s first light, I heard the slow crescendo of rain drops on my fireplace flue followed by a more rapid and louder rhythm on the deck outside my window. I reflected on past Mondays as I rose and drove to work on a chilly, raw autumn Monday. I reflected then on how beautiful it might be someday to simply sit at home on a Monday morning and enjoy the blessing of raindrops being poured out over the land. And so I savored the priceless gift.

CHANGING THE GUARD

Evening Light, Jamestown, NC

The long, golden rays of the setting sun cast a sharp contrast onto the slender trunks of a crepe myrtle tree and transparently filter through delicate strands of decorative grass. A distant chorus of crows caw a litany of curses after a hawk that had sought solace from the days hunt in the tree top canopy. A departing airline’s jet engine breaks the silence and its alien sound rises and then falls as it passes overhead, giving way to a distant drone and then silence again. Even the three crows give up their taunting and wing overhead toward their night’s secluded roost in the trees. Not a leaf is stirring amidst the soothing calls of distant insects settling into the resurgent green grasses. And in the midst of the peaceful calm of the glowing fall sunbeams, you can sense the seasons changing the guard.

The hot days of summer quietly slip away and acquiesce to the cool nights of fall. The temperature drop prompts green liquid chlorophyll to ease from the tree leaves finally revealing their true colors. Rose branches make one last desperate reach to the heavens and unfurl their colorful blooms in silent and reverent wonder. Song birds lower their singing in response to their circadian systems slowing to the rhythm of the cool ambient air surrounding them. All creation pauses and breathes a sigh as the growing season surrenders to a melancholy time of winnowing down into fallow fields and barren landscapes.

Another circle of life has marked the earth’s passage around the sun. The sky turns a clear blue grey while a trough of colder air passes, triggering an ethereal fog that settles into the low lying valleys and lakes. Spirits rise and gracefully dance on the water’s surface to herald the autumnal equinox. A brightly shining harvest moon provides just enough reflective light to enable rural farmers to gather the last remnants of the growing season’s bounty. And God whispers through the stillness, “Well done, rest and be at peace” as dark shadows silently descend on the motionless land and its muted inhabitants.

THE TREE BESIDE LIVING WATERS

Beside Living Waters, Yorktown, VA

"The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's Tree."
--Thomas Campbell

I take a lot of photographs out in nature and I especially like to photograph images of light such as sunrises, sunsets and reflections. Not too many images of trees catch my eye, but one did as I was standing on the hallowed ground of the final battle of the American Revolution in Yorktown, Virginia. The graceful, wide ranging branches of a tree that was growing beside the York River immediately caught my attention. This living creation seemed to be bowing in silent reverence. Its symmetry and innate beauty is a visual testament to the last breaths taken by so many patriots that had fought and fell in the pursuit of freedom at this place. Their life blood had literally been spilled on this ground and it’s plausible that elements had eventually been drawn up by the giant tree’s life giving root system to sustain the organism.

I’m reminded of the writings of the very first Psalm in which those who place their faith in God are likened to a tree that is planted beside flowing, cool streams of water that never run dry. The Psalmist relates that your fruit ripens in its time and your leaves never fade or curl in the summer sun. No matter what you do, you prosper, i.e., when we apply God’s wisdom the fruit or results we bear will be good and receive God’s approval. This doesn’t imply an easy life, but a worthwhile life of true value. The Psalmist continues that those who turn their back on Him are like fallen husks of wheat, tossed by an open wind, left deserted and alone. Their path will end tragically, but the journey of all has been charted by the Eternal if we choose to follow. Those first Americans sought individual and religious freedom and dreamed of a future where their descendants worshiped God in a grand experiment of diversity and the unbridled pursuit of happiness. They planted their dream of a new country and new beginnings beside a stream of living water and the roots ran deep and they were never thirsty again.

THE GREEN SIDE

First Light on the Course, Kiawah Island, SC
On the Driving Range, Kiawah Island, SC

One of the golfing legends I heard years ago at my first company golf tournament concerned the origin of the “Golden Garbage Truck” award we gave to a golfer who had demonstrated a certain demeanor on the course. It seems that the president had teed off on a road side fairway with a wicked slice into the windshield of an oncoming garbage truck. The disgruntled driver approached the tee box demanding what the offending golfer was going to do about it. Our long retired president, without looking up from addressing his second ball and completely in the zone, casually replied that “I think I’ll turn my grip over just a little bit to the left”. He was totally immersed in the present moment and would handle replacing the guy’s windshield after the shot.

Today’s Golf Channel presentation of Live from Kiawah reminded me of that little story and an encounter I had a few years ago at one of the golf courses on that beautiful island. We were walking up to the driving range and I casually asked an attendant, “How’s it going”? He didn’t stop what he was doing and quickly remarked, “Well, I woke up again on the green side of the grass, so it’s going to be another good day”! What a great reply on a beautiful island golf course on a perfectly beautiful morning and what a beautiful mantra to live by every morning! Every day we walk this planet is a gift to be relished and appreciated. Every present moment is where life is played out for us to either squander or grow on our journey. And every day teeing it up on some of God’s most beautiful real estate can be as good as it gets on the green side!

WREN’S SONG

Marsh Wren, Wikimedia Commons

Today’s early morning temperatures were relatively cooler than previous days which begged for a short top-down road trip and a quick detour through Starbuck’s drive through. Armed with a cranberry-orange scone and a stiff cup of coffee, the open road was beckoning under the bright summer sun rising in the blue Carolina sky.

Once I had reached the taunting curves of a two-lane rural asphalt road, the caffeine had stimulated enough brain cells to sharpen my reflexes and morph the drive into a pleasurable experience. That’s when the rather loud and complex song wafted into my hearing range. It was one of those “comfort sensations” that we all experience, like eating home-made vanilla ice cream on a hot Fourth of July family picnic. But this sensation was very pleasant to my human ear and evoked even more pleasant memories of my youthful lazy days of summertime.

The soothing sound of this little brown ball of unbridled energy has been with me since early childhood growing up on the plains of central Kansas. We would roam the pastures and parks or simply sit on open porches as the small short-winged spirits would zip from place to place gathering insects for their multiple broods each summer. And all the while they would be singing their unique and spirited song, sometimes as duets with their monogamous breeding partner. If you did catch them alighting on a small branch, their upright tail would immediately give them away.

It’s one of those spiritual experiences for me to pause and savor these serendipitous moments in life-- moments when a sound or a smell or a sight can jar your senses into remembering a past experience that has always conjured up a pleasurable and warm memory deep within your soul. Such is the remembrance of a small frenetic wren’s song for mine that now reaches decades back to my idyllic youth. And it’s a sensation that also grounds me in the knowledge that there are aspects of life in this imperfect world which can echo the perfection that exists in the next.

Wren’s song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8wjCGQhhRI

RAIN PUZZLE

Rain Puzzle I, II, III, Jamestown, NC

Early summer rain drops assembling on a glass table top outside my back door.

Sometimes, that's as far as we need to go to discover beauty in life.

GOING HOME VIA THE BLUE RIDGE PARKWAY

Blue Haze, Blue Ridge Parkway, NC
GPS, Blue Ridge Parkway, NC
Cycling, Blue Ridge Parkway, NC
Cruising, Blue Ridge Parkway, NC
Sundown, Blue Ridge Parkway, NC

It’s been said that perhaps we are always a little uneasy in this life because deep down among the strands of our common DNA is the memory that our true home is actually not here but elsewhere. And when we die to this earthly, mortal life we are transitioned or reborn into our destined spiritual life with the essence of the soul we have developed on our “recalculated” journey. It’s like driving along a route calculated by our trusty GPS device. We come to a realization that we need to redirect our life and we change direction. In spite of that little voice sternly admonishing us to turn the other way, we set a new course and leave it frantically acquiescing with the now all too familiar refrain, “recalculating, recalculating”! And we can easily silence the chatter with one simple final command, “Go home”.

MAGNOLIA CENTEREDNESS

We're all here to help one another muddle through.