"The trick is to pay attention to what is going on around you long enough to behold the miracle without falling asleep. There is another world, right here within this one, whenever we pay attention." (Lawrence Kushner, "God Was In This Place, and I, i Did Not Know.")
When we arrived in Qualicum from the eight month dream of Louisiana, Michael and I both had the same reaction: an utter strangeness of immediate familiarity, as if we had never left at all. I was almost surprised to find the pantry and refrigerator bare, so eerie was the sense that we had been here all along. For a few days, it felt that we were living in two quasi-realities where what seemed most real was the plane ride inbetween, with its mini-dramas and enforced solitude. I thought of Rabbi Nachman's description of life as a "very narrow bridge between two eternities."
For the last week, that bridge has been very wet. It has rained almost every day, and temps hover at 60. The locals are over it, ready for some summer warmth, and if not warmth, at least a little sunshine. Despite the weather, the gardens are filled with beautiful colors and hanging baskets are everywhere. Last week I ran into my soon-to-be 93 year old friend walking in the dripping forest, a living reminder of Roger Miller's lyric, "some people walk in the rain.... others just get wet." He smiled broadly in his welcome, and told me he still walked two days, and golfed four, and other than a bit more fade to his blue eyes, he looked well.
After more warm greetings from friends and neighbors, we packed up again and headed to the ferry for Vancouver, then up to Whistler, site of the 2010 Olympics, to meet Brett and Stephanie. Since we had a day before they arrived, we took our time on the Sea-To-Sky highway, one of the most scenic drives we've ever made.
Last time we were up here, work was underway for the Olympics, the roads were torn up, and we drove straight through. Now we could poke along a bit, enjoying some local flavor at The Copper House restaurant opposite the pounding Shannon Falls, and taking the short stroll to the Brandywine Falls, closer to Whistler. The meandering stream here, flowing and bubbling happily, disappeared into the forest. When we got to the observation deck some 500 yards later, it had fallen, raging and screaming, from the edge of the woods into the giant chasm opened by its own power.
As we drove away, I told Michael that life seemed like that sometimes: you go along innocently enough, seemingly minding your own business, and then the earth gives way under you - a sudden family death, a cancer diagnosis, an accident, a financial set-back - and you're hurtling through a chasm in life, no grounding, and not knowing what's ahead. Who could tell this water on its terrifying way down that soon it would join a serene lake, reflecting the magnificent white-peaked mountains circling it? How would we move through our life chasms if we knew the serenity already planned for us by the all-knowing power of a Creator's love?
Brett and Stephanie joined us the next day, and we spent time catching up on their lives, strolling through Whistler village, sipping mint juleps at our Lodge (after Michael re-trained the bartenders on the proper art of making them), and just enjoying each others company in the spectacular setting. Despite his abject terror of heights, Brett joined Stephanie and I on the gondola ride to the top of Whistler mountain, cursing and second-guessing himself all the way up. Steph took it in stride, even when his faux-anger was directed at her, smiling and saying, "It's alright, Babe. It's so going to be worth it when we get to the top." And he agreed that she was right. We were on top of the world, crunching through snow to get better views of the 360 degree panorama of glaciered and snow-capped mountains. Joseph Campbell said that we participate in the Divine when we stand before the beauty of a mountain, pause and exclaim, "Ah!" I'm not sure how anyone can stand on the top of a mountain without a sense of humility and connection to Something larger than our own little dreams and schemes.
Back at the lodge, my walks along the lake were cut short by way too much fresh bear scat along the trail, and my cousin's parting words lingered in my heart: "I'm worried about you and all those bears." So on that last morning, after one more bear-scat ending excursion, I just sat on the balcony. The air was chilled, clouds obscured the tops of the mountains, and fog settled as delicate lace through the pines. The world felt like spirit, itself, suspended, floating, slowly wisping its way skyward. The granite of the mountains was solid and anchoring. Tall evergreens stood in awe, rooted and present. But the soul- fog drifts through and over it all, obscuring the mighty and the humble alike.
Our souls weave delicately through life, silently, touching majesty along the way.
Our mountains of ego are mercifully draped by the forgiving fog of Divine love.
This, ultimately, is the miracle, "a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.” writes C.S. Lewis. Perhaps this summer, through these small letters, we can share some miracles together.
This, ultimately, is the miracle, "a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.” writes C.S. Lewis. Perhaps this summer, through these small letters, we can share some miracles together.
YAY GOD
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