17. Trooper Lake - A Peak Experience
In August of that year, my daughter Ell. had left to spend the rest of the summer in England; so, I loaded the dog and cat into the wagon, and headed up north to our cottage on Trooper Lake. Soon I would have to relinquish this pretty plot to winter and later to divorce, but I was not about to dwell upon that now. As long as I was able to appreciate each moment of its pleasures as it happened, I would.
Ell. and I had spent a glorious few weeks together before she left, roaring in laughter (or pain) as our dog pulled himself onto our rubber rafts, usually dumping us into the drink, or leaving long, red welts on unprotected thighs. We went for walks, talked for hours, had nightly barbecues; drove into the town of Gooderham for cold, fresh well-water and ice cream at the Lucky Dollar, fed the chipmunks or just read books in companionable silence.
Now, Ell. was across the pond, and Chaucer, Cocoa and I were here alone.
On a weekday afternoon when the lake was deserted, I stood outside on the deck, taking in the beauty of wildflowers and hummingbirds. It was so incredibly stunning, and I wanted every sensual detail to be embossed upon my memory—of slivered sunlight on water, and tall, swaying birch trees, leaves shimmying in the breeze.
But my thoughts were not all peace and light. As full as my heart was now with happiness and appreciation, the knowledge that I would soon be experiencing many changes in my life existed alongside.
Could I sustain a happy heart? Fear of the unknown slithered along the edges of my serenity. Might I not become bogged down by responsibility and the limitation of time? Might I not regret my decision? Little pricks of uncertain ‘what-ifs’ tried to puncture my pleasure, but I was aware of these whispering soul-saboteurs, and shook them away, determined to resist such restrictions of fear. With a slight sense of triumph, I amplified my appreciation of the scene before me, and held tightly to my earlier pleasure until it was strong enough to hold me.
Suddenly, one isolated question overpowered every other thought in my mind.
Are you prepared to continuously acknowledge the existence of an Infinite Wisdom that exceeds everything tangible?
I stood motionless, astonished by this abrupt, and apparent non sequitur. I hadn't been anywhere near the contemplation of the universe, or of God. And yet, the question seemed to be coming from some singular point within me that gave rise to all the rest. All other thoughts, plans, and experiences seemed to wind their way back to that one inner question, which had managed to break through my conscious reverie.
Of course, the question was not really posed in sentence-form. No voice actually said, “Do you acknowledge . . .” And the words “Infinite Wisdom” did not come from anywhere “else.” These were just words I was using as another translation of the word “God” which I had found, when I quibbled with words, too religious-sounding, too human, and too tightly wrapped in other assumptions. This was more like a sudden, clear and uncompromising state of mind that I knew I could not dodge or analyze. It was as if I was being invited to face my place in the cosmos, by the total pattern of my experiences, which had suddenly presented themselves as an intricate, unfolding design.
In that instant of realization, everything came together. Even what I would have formerly called “bad” experiences, seemed to have burst into bloom, reminding me of what I had learned, and showing me what I had gained. I could not have denied the existence of some All-Encompassing Essence, of God, even if I had had such a desire, for suddenly I felt as if the molecules of my body were somehow mingling with those of the grass and trees and everything else. It was not just the idea of connection; it was – as closely as I can describe it – a physical and emotional sensation, accompanied by astonishment and objective curiosity. At once, I felt the incredible emotion of being both an individual and an inseparable part of the landscape, of society, of Earth, of the Universe, of Light, of time, of space, of everything, not merely philosophically or metaphorically, but actually and on every level. Here I was, sharing the profound energy of existence with everything around me: current blips in an eternity of static, static that was indescribably alive.
A feeling of total awe swept through me. I felt high on non-feeling and all feeling. Time itself seemed to exist at once, and all of reality was laid out for me to see in its totality. Aware of myself as both individual and energy fused with everything else, I saw the ways my “objective self” reflected light, and the ways my “subjective self” absorbed light, and how both together seemed to be that light. All my insecurities were laid bare as powerless projections of useless thoughts. Even my body felt more energized somehow. I was acutely aware of Life being perfectly balanced, utterly, utterly logical, and interconnected in a very direct and immediate way. And I could clearly see how paradox so perfectly shielded the underpinnings of reality from human definition.
Time Out
These words are inadequate, for mere words cannot convey an emotion in its pure form. Language is finite; we deal with what we have. And at any given moment, there are only so many words that we can use that all, who speak the same language, can understand. It is tough to speak of “spiritual” matters without sounding “religious” or “mystical” or some other personality-confining adjective.
The last thing I want to do is imply that this mystical sensation was “oh-so-unique” or to suggest that some paradox that is “shielded” was suddenly revealed only to little, ol’ me. Neither do I want to insinuate that my description was the experience. I might also relate the feeling to the absolute ideal alcohol buzz, wrapped up in the best possible mind-drug effect, legal or otherwise, then topped off with the seemingly impossible: a peaceful, balanced, clear-headed, both-feet-firmly-in-reality kind of high. But it wasn't that either. The question that suddenly expanded out of nothingness, as I stood quietly on the deck, was simply the only possible question that could exist, in light of such an awesomely powerful state of consciousness. And it continues to transcend my own minor assessments of it.
Bio XVIII
posted by Winter Child @ 5:53 a.m.
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