Last week my husband and I kayaked on the Milwaukee River. We didn’t anticipate how much of it would happen in the darkness. It was mostly a beautiful paddle. We saw sandhill cranes, blue herons, and majestic old trees standing on the riverbanks. The group set off later than expected and then stopped quite long at a few points for “talks” about river ecology. All good, except this meant we were on the river later than planned. Initially it was really peaceful. Dusk. A hazy moon. Watching the paddle skim the black shadows on the dark river, I felt a deep interconnection to everything around me.
And then it got very dark. The kayaks had lights on them. We also had headlamps, which of course attracted a ton of bugs. When the bug attacks and buzzing around my ears and eyes and mouth became too much, I took off the headlamp. Even darker. My husband and I ended up in the middle. There was a group of people ahead with a couple of guides. There were a few people way behind with another guide. We were alone in the middle. Somewhat isolated. Maybe even a little unsafe. We were also tired as kayaking isn’t something we do regularly. It felt good to use those arm muscles. It felt strong. It even felt brave in the darkness. And also I was sort of “done” at some point. By the time we got to our destination, I had disconnected a bit from my feelings of interconnectedness. And yet - those feelings are still with me, to be revisited. To be pondered and savored and written about.
Coincidentally, today I saw this quote from John Muir:
The sun shines not on us but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us. Thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. The trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love.
Isn’t that beautiful? I had only ever seen that first line attributed to him. I love the imagery. I feel it deeply. We are nature. Nature are we. All connected.
The human condition can be painful. Humans tend to create cultures of competition and hierarchies of their own making. It can be painful to find yourself on the edges. Which I think we all do at some point. Don’t we? People often pride themselves on independence and eschew community and collaboration and common humanity. Humility and vulnerability are viewed as weaknesses rather than strengths. Our culture reveres fame, power, status, wealth. Why not revere instead the sandhill crane? Why not the winding river? Why not the dusky moon?
We’ll continue to feel pain and to suffer. And also we can return again and again to what we know is true. To the beauty and joy of our common humanity and our connection with nature. To the interdependence of us all.
So much interdependence and interconnection happening in the photo above. And also so much beauty!
Thanks for reading.
Gratefully,
Mary
P.S. Today’s vulnerability is that I’m just sending out these random thoughts without editing and polishing them. Take them as they are…
This really touched me. I am up north of Eagle River and always am in awe of the darkness I experience while here. The good and the bad aspects of it. Always makes my vision feel so much more vulnerable than it already is. And yet brings me a peace like no other.
I was recently on a boat in the dark with others and was very anxious.......I can't imagine being in a kayak alone in the dark. What a story! The flower/butterfly pic is amazing. A great reminder to take time to soak in the beauty of nature.