“But I also say this: that light is an invitation to happiness, and that happiness, when it’s done right, is a kind of holiness, palpable and redemptive.”
~ Mary Oliver
You can’t plan a perfect afternoon. You can hope for one, but life has other ideas. So you never really know what will stick with you or when the ordinary will elevate to the extraordinary.
Last week, we set out on a bright and cheery day for a noon walk on the Great Beach. There were no cars in the parking lot built to handle summer’s throngs. There was no one on the beach. There was simply that breathtaking aloneness of sea and sand, sky and soul.
Such moments whisper, “Do you realize how lucky you are?”
“I do. Thank you,” I mouth in response.
We have had hours alone on the rim of the Grand Canyon, sat, just the three of us, for just as long at the base of sequoias and redwoods, been still as bison neared and circled us within ten feet, and these moments on the Outer Cape offer the same breathtaking feelings.
Not long ago, I wrote to a friend, “We collect sacraments.”
We walked a little further, until we had come a full two miles and
were near where Mary Oliver’s friends had delivered her ashes. Each
time we approach, I am grateful we were brought to this spot a few
years ago by one of Mary’s loving confederates. I was sworn to secrecy
by our guide. She knew we’d cherish the place and what it meant to Mary
and her beloved Molly, and to several of their dogs.
Yes, it was only 32 degrees, but the air was still, and the tide was out, and the sun was warm and welcoming. We were able to walk on firm sand for two miles. Other than a few gulls and the occasional scuttling crab, which, of course, caught Samwise and Emily’s attention, we had the entire planet to ourselves.
Samwise and Emily sniffed, peered, and poked gently with sensitive noses at the crabs. It was Sam who paid particular notice to one that had been delivered to the shore by a wave but was left upside down. The poor gal’s legs scratched helplessly at the postcard blue firmament.
Sam looked to me, and when I approached, he sat down to watch.
I often think about how the world’s creatures see us, and how I’d feel if I were in their position. So instead of bending over or crouching down, I got to all fours before dropping to my belly, so that I was not towering over the distressed soul. Yes, I know I was still much bigger than the crustacean, like you or I would feel before an enormous whale, but at least I was not a looming god looking down with pity. I reached out, took hold of the edge of the shell gently, and turned her over.
Samwise was pleased by this simple act because he stood, wiggled his solid bottom, and began flipping his stub rapidly up and down (it does not go side to side or in circles). By now, Emily pushed her way between Samwise and me, and I had to remind her, “Gentle now.”
I remained on my belly, and when Emily joined me, stretched out like a sphinx, I could not help but imagine how the four of us must have looked to passing gulls who were surely screaming at us, “What are you waiting for? Eat the damn thing!”
Now upright, the crab had shut down and was in defense mode, but was well and secure. Eyeing the gulls, I lifted her one more time and eased her into an Atlantic ebb, which carried her pretty body out to safer depths.
We walked a little further, until we had come a full two miles and were near where Mary Oliver’s friends had delivered her ashes. Each time we approach, I am grateful we were brought to this spot a few years ago by one of Mary’s loving confederates. I was sworn to secrecy by our guide. She knew we’d cherish the place and what it meant to Mary and her beloved Molly, and to several of their dogs.
I pulled my hood up and lay down with Samwise pressed against me from behind, while Emily sat to my left, leaning into me. When I awoke some twenty minutes later, Emily was still sitting guard, and Samwise was snoring.
Behind us, the dunes and the dune grass rolled on for miles. I could not help but wonder if a coyote or fox had crept close to the edge without us knowing and watched us with the same fascination we had the crab.
I stretched, groaned as I pushed my old body back to my hands and knees, and then to my feet. Such a move was easier in previous decades.
And then we walked back the way we came. The tide was easing in now and slowly lapping at the beach. Two miles back to the HMS Beagle and still not a human in sight, and the parking lot was just as ghostly as we’d left it.
This kind of experience is one of the reasons we came here. We did not just want to see, we wanted to feel and experience. I can think of no finer place on earth for a solitary and two quiet friends to stretch their souls and gather blessings.
As I said, we collect sacraments.
Praying
by Mary Oliver
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but a doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
A Request
If you enjoy this post, or any post, please click the little heart at the bottom. “Likes” are used to index posts for future readers. For only the second time in five years, I deleted a post because the response was far below expectations. I don’t know whether it was taken for granted or just nothing special. The low ranking was so out of the ordinary that it was shocking. It was the most recent postcard collection of photos and a video. You may have noticed that it was taken down after 24 hours. I took a week away from writing letters, but yesterday’s did not do well either. It is far below the norm of the last five years. You decide who will see future posts through your interaction with them, and your ‘liking’ them is more powerful than comments.
