Monday, September 27, 2010

"Days In The Life Of An Island..."



First light upon my tent, sensed even before my eyes were open, now an awareness too, of the very soft awakening sounds of this small coastal island...
My island these last few days it seems, not another soul to be seen, no human marks upon the beach, out among the many tracks of other sentient ones who have wandered past mostly in the night. The tides have come and gone, and begin their ebb and flow yet again. I can hear their gentle caress upon both sand and rock, and with the shifting of driftwood in the water adding to those melodies. It rained a lot last night too, as darker clouds passed by the sense of a moon that was surely up there. I have recorded many musings in my journals in the moons quiet company...
The eternally comforting sound of rain upon the sand, falling among old growth trees, and pattering for attention on my tent, is something I will never cease enjoying...
I can close my eyes and hear now too the many voices in the breezes, the conversations of the winds. Seeking of solitude is one reason I am here. That and following the tides during this seasons' changes, looking for tracks of some elusive ones on the beaches, being able to circumnavigate small islands like these, and that essential, necessary time for daydreaming and the practice of gazing upon waves. Of course, I spend endless moments picking up countless small cobblestones, and examining them for the stories they have on their faces and hidden within them too...
I say 'days in the life' of this island, but those are my own terms, as such words do not really apply here. Time is a concept of ours, and these islands have their own life, become alive in so many other ways - light and dark, the slow growth of old growth, seasons upon seasons, eternities of rock and wind and rain, and the spirits too of everything that has breathed the sea air on this special place on a corner of a chart...
I make simple meals, while map reading, and pondering important things like the changing colors of the ocean, why the wind touches everything from so many directions, what birds make those unusual kind of songs, how beautiful these small rocks are that I've gathered up to later pass forward, and why it is that we always wonderfully lose a sense of self and time and other worldly concerns among such special wild places...
I never seem to sleep as well as I do here, near the waters, with the waves as my metronome. For one whose heath issues forever complicate my rest, this is truly another wild place gift I am so very much grateful for. Sunrise becomes sunset, the rise of a crescent moon becomes first light, and it seems I haven't moved at all. Simply snoozing, resting, gazing, gathering, pondering, eating, musing, wandering, paddling, tracking, listening, reading, and all other such adventure activities that blend in as I live out some days shared with this so friendly small island...
DSD

Monday, September 20, 2010

"In The Movement Of An Ice Axe..."




Simple movement...
Seemingly basic technique...
Simple, repetitive movements...
We learn such skills, practice them endlessly, tirelessly, again and again and again...
We perform the technique. We understand the intention. We grasp the nature of the repetitions.
Until we lose ourselves within the movements...
Until we go beyond the technique, further than the repetitions.
The movement then becomes part of the person.
Moving, absorbing, being, and then the real experience begins to emerge...
From the simple movement of an ice axe, out upon a mountain slope.....
DSD

Tuesday, September 07, 2010

"Spirits Walking....."




There is a so quiet time of certain days, when if only for brief moments, if we stand very, very still out there and maybe even hold our breath - then maybe we just might share in the experience of the spirits walking...
These so still ephemeral moments happen when that silky fog drifts in over a quieted ocean, or across that beach you've just landed upon. They walk from the water towards the trees, so slowly, always from the water... These elementals walk too among the earliest morning mountain mists, both before and after storms, when the wind has yet to disturb them. They wander among alpine meadows, brushing the dew from the grass and then resting near the timeless rocks out there...
Such spirits rise up and drift too over those yet to be frozen waters of northern lakes, where the colder approaching winter air greets them and the dense fog that is then embraced.
Then they look for us as we slowly paddle and hike among them...
They sit quietly as well among the stones of many rivers when they need a longer rest, or when they want to connect and converse with us, telling stories and laughing much as the water does over the wet rocks and rapids.
Such swirls of movement and memory, so much evoking of spirit and emotion... They may be mostly hidden among the elements, yet they watch and wait patiently for our return.
So then they may encircle each of us, while we are wandering within our own journeys, in a waking of spirits out there.....
DSD

My appreciation to O. Olivieri for the top image above and to A. Jones for the lower image.

Thursday, September 02, 2010

"A West Coast Trail Dedication..."






This post is dedicated to all those past hardy adventurous hiking souls; and now to those too of IDEAS (Intestinal Disease Education & Awareness Society) & IBD Adventurers, like Rob Hill and Paul Head, who once again are setting out upon yet another journey - The West Coast Trail, to 'Adventure for another reason'... They are all now devoting themselves, offering up their efforts, for a special purpose - to raise funds and honour those who are challenged daily with IBD.
The West Coast Trail...
A path of history now over 100 years old.
A trail among trails... A trail of character and commitment, and a personal trial of finding ones' dignity within resoluteness. Our journey there often takes us into the mist and beyond...
The WCT, where the spirits hiking among the mist are of beauty, attitude, and rugged embracements. This is a special mix of trails of trees, and sand, and rock, and even mud.
For it is among such wild mystery where we each discover again the reasons for why we wander so, and maybe even for who we dedicate such endeavors to...
Here, on the WCT, we feel rain falling much like our tears of contentment; moments among sunrise & sunset and enlightenment's so very unique; tides and waterfalls of grandeur; the wonders of old trees as well as soft shifting sands and pebbles too many to count...
There, we fall asleep to the wind and waves, near so warm beach fires, and then awaken refreshed of body and spirit too. We discover ourselves among companions whose smiles we begin to know so closely.
Our West Coast Trail...
An elemental blending of wonders and mystery, magic and memories...
DSD