Strangely quiet, the geese are all lined along the shore as if in waiting. Perhaps there is a storm brewing; the breeze is unsettled and the lake waters seem to be running from something. The sky is expectantly rounded at the horizon and mottled with shades of gray and blue. The fall crickets’ steady hum rises to meet wafts of the sensual season and I, too, am filled to the brim – even overflowing. I can feel my energy melding with all that surrounds me.

 

I have many wonderful memories of this place. Most revolve around my husband and daughter, but these days I find myself thinking a lot about being alone. Alone is where I live.  Alone is quiet, calm and uncluttered. Alone is that place where contemplation both begins and ends. It’s where the gap between thoughts grows large enough to notice “the still.”

 

It is in the still that the highest and most authentic version of me waits. She often seems elusive to me, but perhaps she is simply patient. She knows that “this me” is unfolding toward her and that I will open up into the becoming at exactly the right time. She knows that I cannot rush nor escape the “me.ness” of being – each step, each phase leads to the outward, burgeoning pull from here to there. 

 

I notice people passing along behind me as I settle in upon this old bench and into my journal. Do the people wonder:  “what is this woman writing?” “Is she lonely? Is she sad?” I like the idea of creating a little mystery for the passers-by. They, too, are mysterious.  Just as I wonder about the life unfolding beneath this undulating blue body before me, I wonder what life unfolds behind these faces.  How many of them live a fulfilling life? How many live in the moment – in the “perpetual now”? How many are sure of their path and stand by their choices? How many are brave enough to abandon the comfortable, but unfulfilling path? How many have the faith to follow a less well-blazed but purposeful path?

 

Well, the breeze has been overcome by a wind that’s kicking up its heels and inviting the painted leaves to dance. It’s the kind of wind that blows thoughts, questions and contemplation away in favor of the still. So, I’m putting the cap back on my pen in order that I might close my eyes and open my heart. Maybe the “someday gina” will come out for a moment and take a much-needed, long and deep breath before retreating to her own safe place where she awaits her turn to present herself to the world.  

 

© 2009