​The night before last, a friend and I walked to a local eaterie and shared in a dinner (outdoors, beside a heater that didn’t put out quite enough therms to keep us warm), and then we walked the long way home, to enjoy the Christmas lights, conversation about our transitions over time, and mostly to get our blood circulating again. So there was every excuse to stay in bed this gray, chilly morning. But I mustered the gumption to rise, put on an extra layer, and wandered forth. As usual, when I approached the silvery, pre-dawn water my senses heightened. 

Every day there are amazing views to savor, unexpected delights to discover, and joyful colors to revel in. Breathing in the scents and feeling the softly crunching icy grasses underfoot, losing one’s self in the rhythmic soft rumble of the rushing river just as the golden sun crests the hillside, hearing the dull thudding of the small woodpecker on the frozen hollowed trunk, feeling the crispness of the air on fingertips that take the photos and the warmth in one’s pocket afterward; everything contributes to bringing one alive, here, in this moment. Indeed, the presence of the whole revives me, cradles me within its bosom, and nourishes my soul. The day feels complete before it has even begun.

I went for a dawn walk on the river in the fog two days ago. The light was utterly magical. Everything elegantly dressed in gossamer silks. Familiar scenes are all redefined because the mist limits the views and redirects one’s focus. I could barely see the river. To the same degree my vision is clouded, the voice of the river was more clear and prominent. The birds seem less aware of me as I stop to gaze at a cluster of bluebirds on branches besides the greenway. I wander onward and stop to take in what seems a kingbird—rarely seen in these parts. 

I consciously breathe and unpack my weekend trip to IN where I briefly was able to visit with my mother. Reflecting on the uncertainty of her remaining years, and my own path in the coming year, I put out an intention and try to be open for guidance. Just then I hear the distinct calls of a heron (or two?) and turn toward the sounds. After a few seconds I locate two barely discernible birds in flight along the waterway. It’s an awe-inspiring experience as the vague forms of these majestic creatures slowly stroke the thick, misty air and their calls echo on the water and even seem to resound on the short cliffside across. They head upstream and then a third suddenly appears and breaks away, circling back downriver. Yet again, the timing seems uncanny. I can only smile. ​

It’s just above freezing and the scenes this morning are so softly beautiful I’m transfixed. Silhouettes of trees frame scenes in every direction, like sumptuous stage sets opening up every few minutes along the stroll. I cross the bridge and encounter a few other folks walking. I head off the path, down toward the water to give them their space and to retain my own frame of mind. The knee-high golden weeds are damp so my steps make only a delicate muffled crunch as I stroll within the scent of the river. I glance toward the eastern sky and for an instant catch the stunning view of the rising sun as a white circle, peeking through silken curtains of clouds above a field of earthen-toned grasses. Just then a former partner texts me and sweetly asks about my trip and mother. We share in a quick exchange. Grateful to have such caring friends, I return to the reverie of my communion with the river way. 
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Randomly, I breach the buffer of trees and step down to the water to listen to the river. I turn off my phone and snap a few shots of the scene downstream. Elegant red-maroon brambles at the water’s edge offset percolating white, jade, and silver-gray water, which rushes across ochre, gold, and russet river stones, worn smooth over eons. I sit on my haunches, rub my chilled fingers, and glance upstream where the bank is keeping the jewel-like colors hidden in veils of mist and shadow. I take a photo, and only then do I notice (of course!) the great blue hunched tightly for warmth, almost directly across on the opposite bank, watching me. I click a few greetings, and apart but together, we each sit still and take in the river’s song. Eventually, I slowly rise, bid adieu, and as I enter back into the human-focused world, make a conscious effort to take some of this larger, richer world with me.

Aware of the necessary conditions and careful about my own limitations, I was happy to put in for an inner tube float Sunday, in mid-December.  The low horizon sun, which will reach its lowest point in a week, transforms even a mid-afternoon float into a dark shadowed trip on deep azure-colored waters. The trees and grasses on the banks alternate between barely perceptible masses of dark gray limbs on undefined hillsides, to brightly spotlit golden arrays. Cameras seem as challenged as humans to take in the striking contrast visible within one view. In a curious way the spareness enhances the luxury. The greens in a simple patch of moss seemed a bit more radiant against the cool dark waters, the bare sky more vividly blue, the sun on grasses more glowing.

December light on the river seems to offer a forthright clarity and in the same view can embody ambiguity. The river has minimal vegetation in its bed, and something about the chilled air seems to sharpen the crispness of the views below the surface. The distant reflections on this midday trip were mirror-like. Perhaps because of this precision each delicate ripple in the water was sharply defined and further echoed every ripple of current across that particular span in view. Tendrils and wisp-like lines made for fascinating nature-made, elegant ink drawings atop the water.  The clear skies and oblique angle of the sun added to the high relief and contrasts. If I had an anchor and a dry-suit, I could have stayed steady in one place and savored the sun’s slow arc and the resultant changing show. 

But I prefer no suit—I mean no dry-suit (I DID have trunks and double layers on; although truthfully I suppose if it was warm and I wouldn’t offend folks, I WOULD prefer no suit). Besides my adornments, I love how the mostly leafless banks now reveal their naked foundations. At this time of year, one can get a fuller sense of the lay of the land and glimpse the occasional cliffs up the bank, and in select spots even a few caves. You get to see wondrous senior trees, hollowed out by the decades but still important participants in the endless cycle. Floating in different seasons in the same stretch of river cultivates an awareness that builds a certain unspoken knowing, an understanding. It’s like coming to know the traits of a good friend through different life circumstances. 

Although holding still might allow experiencing a slow performance of the sun on the responsive riverscape, a primary part of floating is the steadily shifting movement. The sense that life is change and that you are part of the grand flow. Even when I pause and keep my focus on a unique tree, since my tube continues to float, the view of the sunlight striking that tree trunk subtly changes because where I’m looking from is changing. This of course offers our mind a more complex grasp of the nature of that particular thing we call a tree. 

As is true in nearly all aspects of my experience, I can be intrigued by the physics but I’m captivated by the beauty. Whether with the world outdoors or within our relationship with others, the hearty resonance lies in the dynamic of the unfolding. Being a contemplative, observing witness is a lovely thing. But it seems to me truly BEING involves participating: an awareness of our body (breathing, heart beating, sensing, thinking, and recognizing those or that which is beyond our selves). Consciousness delicately balanced, poised within our selves and within the context of where we are, and with what other life. I wonder if it’s not just being an observer that makes experiencing beauty (and life) so vitalizing. Maybe what makes awareness special is when one can sense one’s self while sensing being immersed as a participant in what is at once the minutely and grandly evolving scheme.

It’s always worth rising early, but sometimes it offers a sort of clarion call. Beyond our communal COVID-19 ennui, I’d  been feeling a bit melancholy the last two days. I’d woken to a vivid dream regarding a truncated friendship. In the dream, a gentle restoration occurred, easing something that’s been gnawing at me for a very long while. For the first time since the rending, for an instant I felt at peace about it. In the flicker of an eye, I became aware it’d only been a dream.  A cloud of uncertainty had hovered within me since that morning.​

I put stock in other forms of consciousness beyond our rational intellect. The last few years have had me actively trying to tap into these, listen to my heart. It’s prompted some discontent, many joys, and much growth as I’ve stumbled forward. Recently discussing possible directions where I might apply myself in the near future, a wise friend suggested I meditate: “Not necessarily just sitting in a room” she encouraged, “wherever works, make room to  listen to your inner self to be able to better “hear” what’s in your heart.” She’s not on FB and so barely aware of my recent river rituals (and essays about them). When I mentioned these, she encouraged me to use my time alone on the river as a means to connect to the natural energies there. “Use it as a way to invite your spirit guides in” she said, “immerse yourself in it.” I laughed aloud and then we shared a knowing look when I told her about the river-inspired painting I’d completed only days before, titled “Immersing Within” utterly confirming her insight. 

So as the indefinable arc of emotions following that awakening dream struck and still lingered within me this morning, despite the below freezing temps, I made an effort to get out for a walk a bit earlier today. I happily discovered there were still raspberries, some ripe, others emerging, on the stalks in my side yard. I was just stepping out of my yard into the alley when the sky presented this gorgeous visual gift. I soaked it in, but was surprised that within ten minutes (about 500 seconds) the passionate scarlet and glowing ruby tones diminished, leaving just the pearly grays of a “normal” pre-dawn sky. 

For whatever reasons, as I strolled toward the river, I felt my heart melting a bit. Perhaps I was moved and made porous by the stunning sight. Or was it a vague yearning to share that view from a familiar point on the block where I’d on occasion walked with that now untouchable friend, our bodies nestled as sweetly close as with anyone in memory? Or maybe I was just feeling worn from my own unresolved career direction, with the added weights of this damn isolation and the dream-induced emotions. I kept moving forward as the bracing wind hit my face. My eyes watered, only partly from the chilled air. I wandered and intentionally chose a different route than normal.  I ventured across the broad traffic bridge underneath which I normally begin my floats. 

As I paused and glanced absent-mindedly at the river, I noticed the recent freezing nights have added a particular greenish hue to the waters. Maybe because I was open and raw, focused into my heart-space and trying not to step aboard trains of thought, it flashed before my me that a friend’s son (born the same year as mine) had ended his life here a few years ago. I tried to honor the realization, and him and his family, refocused on my breath as I offered up my own confused intentions, and then continued walking the long span. 

Again I randomly stopped. I looked over the edge at the dark olive-toned, mysterious and sparkling waters. In that instant, the familiar great blue heron leapt from the near bank below and flew downstream. I breathed deeply and smiled broadly. When I’d stopped earlier it wasn’t visible. I easily could have not stopped again, or stopped further on, or done a dozen different things, but where I chose to look put us within each others’ view and prompted an exchange. 

Crossing, I followed the Greenway and felt drawn off the path down to the water’s edge. I stepped over knee-high grasses and through the brush to the rounded rock bank. For a few minutes I simply took in the presence of her flow and feasted on soothing, rippling sounds. I ventured a bit down river and sure enough, encountered the heron again, this time it circled back upstream... I sought (and have) no absolute interpretation; I just took it all in to my heart. There is no denying this river, winding through these familiar neighborhood parts, is interwoven with potent friendships, this community, my own ongoing growth, and somehow, the future path I’ll create. 

It may be less conspicuous in my essays, which mostly focus on my sensory experiences, but those who know me personally will recognize I can be pretty linear logic-oriented. I have math teachers and engineers among my siblings and my own son is an engineer. I’ve a natural inclination toward frank objectivity that at times frustrates friends looking only for sympathetic ears. I’m often struggling to balance this with my impassioned sensitivity, and at times deep empathy. Seems I’m blessed and cursed with accepting these seemingly opposite traits. To me they’re conspicuous in my art, as well as my life choices. 

Perhaps searching to meld these, I’ve a strong desire to look into the mystical, the un-intellectually knowable, the not (as yet) scientifically identifiable synchronistic stuff we all experience in our lives. To me both rationality and intuition are valid. I see scientifically recognized systems and order as forms of intelligence and consciousness. We (all life, really) exist within these. It makes sense to me the vast energies of this planet’s non-human life, and their interwoven dynamic with the larger forces of the earth (and galaxy beyond) must impact us relatively puny humans, even if we can’t easily articulate how with words or numbers. How could we be unmoved by the waters within which we exist? 

As I wandered the river then headed homeward, I pondered it all. The stunning pre-dawn vision, ravishing beauty that lasted only a few hundred seconds. The seemingly timelessly comfortable friendship that blossomed — even though it departed before we could fully appreciate it — and the warm joy it brought me in that time, and the memory of shared hugs it granted that will never diminish. The tragically young life that, beyond all rationality and understanding, needed to return to the Source. The maturing heron patiently waiting in frigid water, my steadfast talisman all year, obliquely leading me to the river in the instant I put out conscious energy for guidance. The comforting, unending flow of this river, whose pulse so often steadies my own. And so many other energies continuously at play in the dynamics of our lives that we can never know or begin to fathom. If there is a simple take-away, it’s a siren call to honor the past, appreciate the unfolding, magical future, and embrace the now. There are delectable raspberries to savor.

“Immersing Within” 24” x 24” mixed media/panel


Being near water eases me. It doesn’t seem to matter if it’s the ocean, a lapping lake, the finger of a reservoir, a flowing river, a babbling brook, or a still-water pond, if I can spend time near or in it, I’m refreshed. That’s a strange phrase “spend time” as if we dole out an expense of minutes. I admit there’s an aspect to it’s affect on me that involves time and my senses, but somehow “experience” the moment feels more apt. If I cross a river in my car, or perhaps view it from a plane, the experience is mostly just a visual instant, a passing through over time. If my mind is eased in such cases I suspect it’s linked to memories of a more direct encounter. However, when I’m at, or better, IN the water, it can readily touch the depths of my being and pervade the full senses of my body.  ​

Even better, if I’m not only near water but can “be” (as in, allow myself to disregard time and truly just BE), I find my whole self genuinely renewed. Simply sitting or standing still along a river bank, consciously breathing, magically opens the floodgates of my senses. By relinquishing the desire to think (we can never fully cease thoughts but we can “watch” them rather than incessantly be driven by them) I feel life more deeply. Given a few moments my dormant senses begin to stretch, reach outward, and expand. From what I understand, they’re always actively taking in input, but for survival we’ve learned to narrow down what we’re conscious of, limiting what we focus upon or “notice.” But that’s been a great trade-off: the luxuries of our survival successes have made us indifferent to the vitalizing forces of life beyond our self. We’ve mostly become ignorant of the very sources of and networks of knowing that enabled our species to thrive. Our rational intellects are especially adept at keeping the vast array of inter-connective energies of the systems that we swim within at bay—perhaps because the sensations are so overwhelming and don’t readily fit within our culture’s overly linear framework. 

At the ocean the immensity of these forces seem to more quickly overtake our little minds. But whether it’s my toes dipping in a cool lake, the babbling sound of water mixing with atmosphere as it rushes over rocks in coursing river, or the unique scent of algae-transforming pond life, when I’m near natural bodies of water I’m nudged out of my intellect and into my body. For me this is more potent when alone or with quiet companions. The intriguing thing is that within the experience of becoming aware of my body through my senses, I also clearly feel more connected to the world beyond my self! Verification our culture tends to root our sense of self, our identity, in our heads, as if we can exist without acknowledging our hearts or bodies. 

Yet our bodies are yearning to connect, to each other, and the world at large, and the world is open (eager?) to enrich us. Though words are limiting and quickly become clumsy and inadequate describing this holistic sensation, the word awe, in its original meaning as a profound emotional/physical experience (from roots related to fear, terror, reverence, and amazement) comes close. I’ve been on mountains with views of incredible vistas, walked under thundering  waterfalls, and held on with all my strength as the deck of the sailboat I was on careened at 45°+ angles in choppy waters, yet when I make the unforced effort to allow it, even a simple quiet marsh can be awesome. 

I’m confident jungles, forests, peaks, tundra, deserts, and beaches can do the same, but right now I’ve the great fortune to live within a ten minute walk of a river that’s thousands of years old. No matter the tumult of the day or ongoing concerns of my life, gently engaging with it for even a few minutes washes my being, and rejuvenates my spirit. “Mindlessly” absorbing the rhythm of the singing currents and the visual stream of colors opens a door that enables the world from which we’ve become so removed to re-enter my soul. In an almost mystical way, for an instant “I” lose track of being an individual, and become a small, very brief note in the ever-flowing, spontaneous symphony. Seems so much would be more harmonious if we just put in a bit more effort and practice into keeping in tune with the whole. 

At times I’ve felt as though I’ve lost track of who I am. I’m unsure if I’m just more aware of it as I age or if my passions are more in conflict with my earlier choices or present circumstances. While uncomfortable, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. I already felt a need for some realignment at this time of year in 2018. I really reassessed following the unexpected, unrelated deaths of two younger cousins near Christmas of that year. It may seem cliche, but on the ride home from visiting family that holiday, I was struck by a deep sense how short and uncertain life is. I made up my mind to begin to let go of whatever wasn’t fulfilling. I more fully dug into making art, earnestly dedicated more time to writing, took up some new routines like floating on the river, and finally traveled overseas. Mostly, I resolved to follow my heart.

I also sought to broaden my circle and reached out to a few people I knew a little but not well. One light friendship unexpectedly evolved into a briefly shared intimacy which joyously warmed my winter, then froze unexpectedly and ended abruptly, prompting several seasons of introspection regarding my role in the rupture. Few things get our attention more than heartache, and fewer still cause me more concern than the recognition I’ve caused distress in another. Foolishly or not, my soul still aches about that lost friendship; indeed, on dark nights it occasionally haunts me. The delicate seedlings of friendship sometimes withstand unforeseen storms, sometimes not. But it’s painful to consider one’s inept gardening may have hindered from blossoming something that felt vital and beautiful. I’ve accepted my limits to change what will be. Ever the optimist, I remain hopeful the ice may one day melt and mutual understanding and compassion might grow. Nonetheless, it’s intrinsic to being fully engaged in living and surely played out just as it was meant to in life’s ongoing cycles. 

All relationships, all life, is in continuous renewal. Seeds randomly sprout, once fallow fields fill with blossoms. Branches bud and reach to the light, leaves burst and breathe, glow, then let go. Old trees grow weary, fall, and decay. Rains and flood waters replenish the earth for another round. Sadly, a few wonderful old friends died in 2019, before COVID, leaving only cherished memories to hold. As is natural, some other friendships have been bent, cracked, and shifted. (Of course in writing this I’m reminded to try and reconnect with those folks.) Congruently, other contacts initiated from that holiday travel idea a few years back have become steadfast friendships. Several remain supportive bright lights in my days. I’ve tried to consciously grow from all these interactions and am very grateful for each one. 

Even as I began to lay a foundation toward a more satisfying and sustaining life at the outset of 2019, everything was utterly reshuffled for us all in early spring 2020. No one knew what to expect. Formerly unrecognized luxuries were rescinded. Travel became very limited. Most restrained from gathering; many of us isolated. Everyone faced compromises. A niece’s wedding has been rescheduled twice. A major art show I was excitedly working toward was postponed. I’ve visited with my mother through glass more often than directly this year. Still, I’m very aware I’ve been extraordinarily fortunate. My mother is alive and well. I’ve lost no loved ones to COVID-19. I’ve been able to continue earning a living. Technology allows me to keep in contact with my family and friends. But I was surprised to discover how the strange uncertainty and limbo from March to September stifled my creativity. I felt unable to steer my vessel or even know which way to aim. Maybe this happened to others. For me, a few simple pleasures like walks and floating on the river became centering, almost sacred rituals. For sure we’ve all developed coping mechanisms. 

Already solo in my work life and art-making time, the isolation (felt keenly by those of us living alone) impacted me far more than I expected. As an unabashed deep hugger I’ve come to learn how much those warm hugs I so freely shared with my friends on a regular basis bouyed my outlook and provided hearty sustenance. Perhaps as much as anything I crave the opportunity to directly engage with others; feel the tone of non-digitized, in-person voices; sense a friend’s presence walking side by side; gently touch and exchange physical energy with people again. 

Once more we mark twenty darkening days until the return of Light. The first ice of the season has formed beneath our feet, a few more months of cold winter days are approaching. Once again, we’re called to nurture our internal fires, keep our individual flames lit. For a bit longer we have to draw on our inner resources; allow the sparkle in our eyes to shine bright enough to radiate beyond our masks; see the coming dormant season as a necessary part of the cycle, and, even still, recognize the profound beauty within it all.