Sun Appears to Set
After a sunny morning that turned overcast, rainy and full of thunder through the afternoon, it was a pleasant, not forecasted, delight that the sun appeared as an orange smudge, then fireball, and reflected a trace across the lake, just in time to set, leaving a quiet hush after a windy day.
The Dance of Grace
Dance in the morning as you come to wake and see light again, bright or fuzzy, broken or brilliant, light is not light, but the music that you have in you by Grace provides the rhythm to see far into the present.
Dance in the morning as you begin your day, for the tasks can be overwhelming, the burdens impossible to lift even on ones shoulders, and the debt owed so many can with just one straw of fiction removed come crashing down all around, but the music of Grace plays within you even so and even if so faintly, but it guides your heart at every beat, to remember the steps from birth through to today and beyond as the shadows and darkness of sin (your own and others’) were want to prevail and still your heart beat and beats now still by Grace alone, and the music sustained and sustains you, and the rhythm continually invited and invites you still to dance.
Dance in the mid-day as the bright light burns hot or the skies pound the ground with vicious water or the fog drips from up high, always burning or drowning out the expectation of what might be somehow finally this day … but now simply cannot be, and as hope fades into Jerusalem’s lament, listen to the soft persistent music of Grace which is the element that holds all elements together, the particle that holds all particles together at the fundamental basis of realities’ waves constructed into this universe, listen and if in the din of the day you cannot hear, then simply remember, remember the gentle music of the bearers from generations upon generations of Grace, hear or remember, and hum softly along and silently almost imperceptivity move your feet and fingers, your chin and your knees, your belly button and your hips into the dance, the dance of Grace. For here is life, here alone is life, here alone is all manner of life.
Dance in the evening as the energy of the day gives up and the work is left to another day to be engaged, and the darkness begins to slowly invade the skies pushing the light to the far north’s horizon distant and beckoning, and as you lay yourself down to know none of this at all any more, as the darkness invades your mind and the horrors of past, present and future play free upon unprotected anxieties; Dream, dream and dream all that darkness freely for the beat of the music continues on even then, and dream also the victory of Grace against all that unbridled darkness and evil begat of sin, and dance … dance away … dance with your toes and your synapses freed, for here in this play of the universe of your mind, there also the music continues, continues on, continues on and away, the music of Grace, which frees one from the pervasive power of evil and horrors, and there in that freedom of Grace all powerful even over Evil so freely played, dance … dance on … dance away, a way to embody Grace.
For the sun will rise again, fresh and unsoiled, fully embodied in you … by Grace so that you may dance.
Know by your dance of Grace that you are loved, by God perfectly and so imperfectly by me.
New Kinosoo Beach
Wonders come in good surprises.
Like the improvements to parks and recreational areas.
Like wonderful sunsets at the Marina
The line of sunset visitors is slim, but always comfortable in their own skin.
Riding back the greatest colour took even me back a bit.
I almost passed them up, not to disturb their fun, but with the light so marvelous, and they having so much fun as a group of teens at the beach, I made the request and demonstrated what could be done with the sunrise and even just a cell phone camera.
Teaching photography I repeated often what I heard from a host of other photography instructors: always have a camera on you, and always see the photos that are possible even if you do not stop.
This paid off, and this group of young adults was 1) obviously having a simply good time at the beach, and 2) they were clear enough with themselves to know if they were willing to pose as the silhouettes against the sunset.
The guys were ready and willing, and one of the girls stepped in to make a good demonstration:
When they saw how fabulouse the photo could be, and heard that I was asking them to do something to show how much fun they were having at the new beach.
There were a few that we shot, but they made something like this and I kept shooting as fast as the little cell could, and it evolved into this.
All agreed this is the best of the lot.
I didn’t recognize any of the young adults, so I could not give you names or give them anything but anonymous credit.
But anonymous credit is greatly due: look at what this groups of young people thought of with little to no notice!
This is the past, the present, the improvements, the joy of life, and these young people are the future of Canada. We should do all right, in their creative hands, finding solutions and possibilities in the complicated world.
Rehabilitating Hilda Lake Random Camping Area
This is the ‘bush party place’ left with broken glass, burned out campers and all sorts of results of obviously irresponsible behaviours and disrespect for the land. There just is no excuse for this.
A huge clean up and accounting project was undertaken, and it is a pleasant place now, still needing lots of ‘small piece’ cleanup.
This was someone’s idea of a good use of the resources here: hack at at live tall mature pine tree and leave it to suffer.
Our fire area had a second fire spot, no rock rim or metal container, right on top of live roots, or maybe formally live roots.
We started to pick up pieces to finish burning them in the proper fire ring and noticed lots and lots of nails.
So out came a garbage bag and the shovel.
Then, with all the nails we could find and the junk they were attached to in the bag, we brought over some sand from the roadway, and then spread some forest floor decaying matter on the spot.
And then we turned to clean up and remake the rock rimed fire ring. And there were more nails and broken rocks … and a second heavier garbage bag filled with the mess.
Done we had two heavy garbage bags of mess, and a lot neater fire ring.
The brown bag was the start and finish effort. We’ve kept picking up broken glass shards and debris and detritus from around this and the other campsites. Into the brown paper bag. And it along with the fire pit mess of nails, metal, glass and pieces of half burned wood goes out with us into an appropriate garbage receptacle.
It can be clean if everyone who enjoys a few days here does the same, cleaning up, collecting garbage and hauling out more garbage than they themselves make.
My challenge is that each of you, who can use Canadian Parks this year, document your stories with photos or video of you clean up contributions.
Tell the story, be the story, make us all proud.
A quiet summer night’s light
The moon is back, hidden beyond the clouds for a few nights, slivered by an eclipse partial here.
While the moon only reflects the bright light of the sun, our efforts are to create new light from an old source, transferred into energy to be transported by wires wherever we want it’s power.
Seen in perspective our lights seem just as large, but let nothing fool you so far, ours are tinsy tiny specks of fossil fuel with a little nuclear thrown in to make us all glow.
The greatest vision takes the expanse of the sky and places it just so that we like how we see it all.
The moon is back, the summer sky at 2245 still light, the land still visible, and wind calm … even the mosquitoes are subdued.
What’s that mean?
What does that mean for us?
As we approach 150 years since confederation, with years and years before, the wilderness celebrated, are the biters holding back for a feast anticipating the crowds? Or have they gone away like the moon, to return great enough, lest we forget.
How will you see the light?
As the light recedes
As the future disappears
We see the basics of life become impossible
and then we hear that there are so many people
who have so much less,
who still are kind and happy.
Who do we think we are?
What have we become?
three meals each day
a home that keeps the bugs and rain and snow and cold at bay so that we
can remain gracious humans instead of like wild animals ferociously fighting for every bit of life available to be taken from others,
and meaningful work, that provides income and purpose,
and love, to be loved for what we are and to love others,
even our enemies,
and this is life, to breathe and wonder and hope that one day ….
Trees, Trees, Light, Water, Hope
That’s the spot, where the borrowed trailer sits for the nights, when for a few brief hours the sun sets and the coyotes howl and the rains … well they did not do anything, but the bugs invaded like the empire’s drones.
As if the forest of trees and under-bush had come alive to welcome one to the healing refuge of nature or to warn one of what the (2 legged) wildlife had planned for one.
Drawn to the light like moths to a candle the breathing of the light overpowers ones vision and capacity to see clearly what is in store … What will the process ahead entail?
Will Grace and Forgiveness win out, or will judgment and condemnation ruin the days and lives of so many?
It is much more difficult to see the simplicity of love which unconditionally takes in everything about the other, every nook and cranny of Scheißheit and still turns, to give so that it is as if the Schieße Idiotische Irrtümliche Freaking Blödheit simply was not. Not to demand anything, but to make, out of one’s own sacrifice, the reality that the other is acknowledged to have done exactly what is done, and yet the other is treated as if … as if it were not so. It is much more difficult to see the simplicity of love so far beyond the complexity of horrendous things done redeemed by one’s own sacrifice … this is so much more difficult than it is to take in the lies as excuses to create more lies of false condemnations. Girard saw it clearly; we like teenagers gather for mass attacks and derogation of a poor victim who has done nothing other than be, we even adults swarm upon the one selected as our collective victim and against all logic viciously ruin that one. And released of our mass hysteria hidden so well in our civility, we feel we’ve done right to end the stress and we return to peace. A peace more dangerous than outright war, for the real villain lies within us hidden and nearly undiscoverable, ready to direct us against yet another unaware victim.
It used to be women. Now we’ve become politically correct and we do it to men. Especially men who are honest about what they’ve suffered.
The light, on the far side of complexity is revealing that lives are at stake.
Forgetting is not forgiving. Forgetting is to have plaque on the brain, or plaque on the heart, so that one lives in a fantasyland, as if things were somehow different than they are. Truth is each of us beyond hope, lost from any blessed acceptance by anyone who ultimately matters.
But if we do not forget, if we remember, if we remember not with the poignancy of the pain of the Scheißheit that has been done to us, but remember knowing that it does no longer determine one’s life, nor need to determine the other’s life, so we remember without feeling the pain still, but knowing then and now we choose to move into the next moment of the present moving into the past, to move with grace and acceptance, not of the Scheißheit, but of the lovely person who did it to us.
That is not simple, it is not the complexity of reality good and evil, it is past all layers and webs of complexity of black holes and supernovas that destroy life, back into the blessed breath and wind that brings new life even to the ravages thought to be impossibly lost, dead and gone.
This Simplicity is the light of truth; harsh in what it reveals and delicately soft in how it reflects each of us to the other, as a slow waltz encapsulates the love of years, new this moment again.
And then the water, the water that gave and gives life beginning and sustenance. Water that surrounds the rocks that could and would destroy everything, including life itself, allowing the water to swallow what it gave birth to. Water that is the cooling best of a hot hot day, and here the relief of bugs biting literally sucking the essence of life out of us.
The water gives and sustains life …
But the light made visible in the clouds spanning the sky draw wonder from our burden laden hearts, until
Until we see the light
And seeing the light we see the clouds
And seeing the clouds we know the storm to come
And knowing the storm to come we breathe easy in our preparations and survival of the last storm of chaos.
Breathing easier for the last survived and the next prepared for we hope …
Hope is the spark of life without which we die, shrivelled up in apathy and disregard for the life of others.
Hope is the spark of love that saves us from the animal survival instincts that turn others into prey and ourselves into combatants that must win at all costs to whomever.
Hope, we see hope in the world, and we can breathe.
Forgiveness even through the possible future of forgetfulness of age,
To making the other’s strengths shine and their weakness compensated for, so that life is GOOD!
It is the beloved who honours life, not out of irrational fear, but out of hope in self and the beloved. Standing shoulder to shoulder, taking on the challenges of life even when they seem insurmountable, and hoping against hope that all will be well, all will be well, all manner of things shall be well.
With so much to write, and so many little things not working still on this borrowed camper it’s time, all about time, to get a few things tested and tried, and proven. So an evening away from the pressure, the woods all around, no city yet, but the mosquitoes are out in full force like vampires miniature taking what the will.
The lush greenery encroaches on the parking spot, with a view to the lake at sunset between the trees
More views maybe later, after the first onslaught of itching subsides and the quiet supper is enjoyed.
Just the task of backing the trailer in to the site was immensely easier and safer. The back-up camera that would not work for so so so long no matter what is now working. Which means worrying about lining the camper up in to place is much simpler and the fret of possibly hitting something in reverse is all but taken out of the picture.
Leveling the camper still begs to be improved. Ideas abound, but it takes some planning and doing.
For now, the lights work, the back-up lights work, though this time of year they are rarely going to be needed, and the screen door is fully functional and sort of bug tight, which may entice us to tweak it a bit.