Canada Saga 2012 - July 30

"Nothing begets a wholeness in life better than a heartfelt sigh." (Rabbi Nachman)

"God is an unutterable sigh, planted in the depths of the soul." (Jean Paul)

 

Our drive into and out of the Village in Qualicum is idyllic: farms, snow-capped mountains in the distance, black and white and soft gold and grey rabbits on the side of the road, eagles circling, the occasional deer family wandering across the highway, interspersed with a backdrop of dark green forest. Last week as I was driving home, a beautiful buck crossed the street just ahead of me, and leapt effortlessly over a white split rail fence into a picturesque front yard with a pond. I realized later that his fluid graceful movement included an almost imperceptible pause as he assessed the height of the fence and the risks involved, before leaping with confidence. There is value to these slight pauses - the momentary breath, the quiet wait before speaking, the discerning hesitation - that gives the heart and soul time to catch up with the impulses of the brain that might otherwise be unfiltered.

 

A few minutes later on my return home, at a sharp descent in the road leading towards the water, an eagle was perched in the lone tall pine tree which, in a less than creative moment, we dubbed the 'eagle tree.' As I watched another glide in and join its mate, I marveled at what a joy it is to be here, and remembered Deva Premal's beautiful lyric in The Silent Garden: "It's a pleasure to be here at Your feet, it's an honor and a joy. It's no wonder that I finally meet mySelf in Your silent garden." Even now, as I write this at 4AM, the earth just beginning her awakening yawn of light, eagles talk aggressively in a dawn too dark for me to see them.

 

There is a downside to the wild side, of course, where walking so early in the morning conjures up images of bear and cougar, both of which inhabit the island and occasionally share our lives. An enormous buck eyed me with no fear as I walked down our street one day before sunrise, bringing to mind news reports and youtube videos of deer attacks last summer. I ended up taking a much longer walk than expected to circle around him as he moved along to graze on a neighbor's flowers. Two weeks later, my friend was charged by a doe in her front yard while she painted her gate. The deer definitely have an attitude this summer, making the walk in Rathtrevor Forest each morning somewhat of a cardiac test.

 

So some mornings, I retreat to the boardwalk along the water in Parksville, remembering that last summer a cougar was found and shot in the little campground next to the beach here, just minutes after I had passed. But mostly on these early boardwalk strolls there are ghosts of family outings littering the beach, including tiny yellow and pale orange sand buckets tipped-over at water's edge, spilling out yesterday's laughter and tears into the ebb of the ocean. In the distance an ever-present sand-bar defies the highest tides with the remnants of a long-ago fallen tree, a perch to two bald eagles most days, who sit and face East to welcome whatever light the day brings.

 

Usually, however, we encounter nature with a heightened sense of our surroundings that invites us to silence and appreciation. Our first hike this summer was to Elk Falls on Campbell River, especially powerful this year after heavy spring rains. After nine years on the island, it's still a source of ever-increasing gratitude that we can walk along the beach in a Provincial old growth forest in the morning, and two hours later be standing silent, all words consumed by the roar of a natural wonder. The sheer power and volume of water create a gentle mist that floats through the canyon in the air, lifting thoughts and plunging emotions into the place of soul that responds with angst and silence and the exquisite loneliness born of such loveliness.

 

It was with great joy that we were able to bring Brett and Stephanie to the Falls to share the experience. Inveterate New Yorkers though they are, they are appreciative of the poetry of Nature, the solitude and majesty of the old growth forest and the unleashed cascade of foaming sound and fury. They are as comfortable walking in silence, pausing in time to experience the eternal unfolding before and within them, as they are with the joys of their own fast-paced lives in the city.

 

I've read that the discovery of an idyllic place finds us "filled with a yearning to linger where time

stands still and beauty overwhelms." The pounding, the roar, the release of the falls into the canyon below wash away the weight of a collective pause - as if our whole being has been holding its breath. We walk away renewed somehow, lighter in step for the experience of this "unutterable sigh."

 

I used to think I left behind tiny parts of my soul in these beautiful places. Now I realize that I've actually found them. Or perhaps more accurately, recognize them. That deep poignancy that sometimes feels like the grief of a homesickness of the soul is sometimes its equally powerful cousin, gratitude.

 

After a quick visit to Victoria and Seattle, Brett and Stephanie have made their way back to New York. In my mind's eye, though, and in the photo I took that day, I see them walking quietly hand-in-hand in the beauty that Life lays at our feet. 

YAY GOD