Sunday, September 19, 2004

Acadia September Rain

Not one to let a little weather stop my walkabout, and remembering my slicker this trip, I went for a walk in the rain. There’s a carriage road that wends its way to the top of Day Mt. The elevation isn’t much to speak about but the length of the perambulation is about six miles. Needless to say I got soaked.

But that’s when I came to realize the importance of being water. We are more than half water ourselves, as if we rose from the primordial stew and took a doggy bag with us to go. When it rains, we are in the presence of our divine mother. We may not always like what she has to say, but we best listen.

So I did. She spoke to me of never-ending oceans and time being just another name for now. She told me how the sun had wooed her for so long his words became a constant breeze that urged her on in waves until she grew to swells and something sparkled in her surface depths like spirits of the deep. Then the wind on the mountain began to sing.

We were born of fire and water and the spiritual is nothing more than just the memory of that moment. But still, we look into the mystic like some fanatical genealogists searching for our roots. Some will fill the blanks with scores of biblical names. Others just swear they’ve been adopted. I’m waiting for the rain itself to tell me more.

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