Trilogy

Zen and the Art of Kayaking

Friday: The humidex approaches forty degrees celcius and the wind blows wild but I decide to see how close to my island I can get. I struggle for the first ten minutes, digging in against the current, pulling hard against the wind. But then there is a moment where I fix my gaze on the white caps and accept that the elements must do what they do. I relax. Everything changes. There is no longer any resistance between us and, although the water feels heavy under my paddle, my kayak skims easily amidst the waves.

The boaters and fishermen think I am crazy, tossing about in the wind and waves, but the challenge helps me focus, regain my center, keeps me sane. And there are rewards along the way, calm waters in eddies and bays, sheltered lee shores and buffer zones. And, of course, at the end, an island I can call my own. Not really of course. The island belongs to the plover and frog, and juniper bushes and jack pines. There are also wasps and a giant dock spider with equally giant fangs who seems, so far, as distressed by me as I am of her and has, with the exception of the day we met, given me wide berth. But mostly I've felt quite welcome.

Lupine

In the evening, over a glass of wine at the neighbour's, D. tells me there is a pack of wolves hunting in the area. I laugh, thinking she is trying to frighten me into not going out at night.

"No," she says, "I'm quite serious. They've had a few kills over at the bison farm down the road."

Then she tells me about the mangey wolf who died under their cabin over a winter past.

I am impressed but not concerned.

Saturday: The humidity finally breaks and we (perhaps only I) revel in the relief of thunderstorms and, at times torrential, rain. In the evening I decide to watch a movie while the storm lights up the heavens above and rumbles the earth below. I choose a horror flick "Blood and Chocolate". I mistakenly believe it's about vampires and truffles. It's about werewolves. I no longer have the fortitude to walk across the road to the bathroom after dark.

               
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Essentials

Today we saw beautiful red fox with a fresh kill- a rabbit, possibly, or maybe a groundhog- trotting alongside the road. We stopped for a photo but a giant monster truck pulled up behind us then peeled off, spinning wheels and spitting gravel. How can people not be awed by such and amazing creature? Of all the wild creatures here, this is the one I most wish, if there would be no consequences, I could tame.

Deliberation

Flying back from Nepal to India I was seated in business class, next to a man who, it turned out, worked for the WHO on global food issues. He really wanted to talk to me, and went so far as to wake me up several times throughout the flight to try and engage me in conversation. Unfortunately I was mind bogglingly hung over, possibly still drunk, and it was all I could do to focus on not throwing up. The book I am currently trying to write would, no doubt, have benefited greatly from that conversation. Instead all I am left with is a deep regret that I had over indulged the night before and missed such a fantastic opportunity.

I wish I could say that's the only time it's happened but I actually have an extensive list of moments not seized, or fully lived, because of a smashing headache and tilt-a-whirl stomach. There's the trip to New York and the matinee viewing of "Cabaret" at Studio 54. Neat huh? I think I fell asleep for about ten minutes before intermission despite a heroic attempt to fight the all encompassing hangover stupor.

I am not an alcoholic. I like to joke about my love of wine and spirits but I have never in my life felt compelled to drink (unless I've already had two or three, which is about when I begin mindlessly refilling my glass- but this isn't about my need to find an AA meeting), and now that I am in my 30's I, more often than not, have a few drinks in an evening and wake up fine the next morning. Still, in retrospect, I have deprived myself of far too many satisfying, potentially rewarding, experiences simply by losing track of where I'm at in terms of drink consumption and paying for the poison the next day. There's been family events, weddings, even romantic possibilities all reduced to vague and blurry memories obscured by an unrelenting pounding head and cotton mouth.

But, I've come to realize this affliction is even more deeply rooted and insidious than I've suspected. Inspired by Joseph at Somewhere in Dhamma I've started to add five minutes of simple sitting meditation to the end of my yoga sessions. It usually goes something like:

One, one, two, two (I count both inhales and exhales), three, I'm thirsty...oops, four, five, I think I forgot sunscreen aaack, seven, eight, eight wow, my distractions aren't very deep, I am an incredibly dull person, oh crap... fourteen?

But a few days ago I had a moment on a ten count inhale where my wandering mind said, this is the only time you will breathe this breath. And in that moment I suddenly understood, profoundly, something I've known, which I mistook as understanding, for a long time.

So I'm trying to take my life more seriously. I don't mean I'm abandoning my absurdist views and exuberant gratitude and joy. I think I already live richly and well, passionately and creatively. But more than that I hope, from now on, to live deliberately. No more surfing the web while I unappreciatively eat a bountiful breakfast. I am going to revel in every bite of garden fresh tomato and sweet potato hash browns. No more toss away responses to half heard conversations. I am going to relearn the lost art of listening. No more lost hours or days. No more meandering motion and wasted words.

At least not unintentionally. After all, it was a liberated, not deliberated, mind that brought me here.