Saturday, June 26, 2010
Hi Everyone,
Wilderness State Park lies at the northernmost tip of Michigan's lower peninsula. It is as wild and remote as its name implies. It is also uncrowded and serenely beautiful, a perfect place for a perfect getaway. A sandy beach runs east to west along the Straits of Mackinaw. There are five log cabins spaced miles apart on the beach for those who are lucky enough to have made their reservations a year ahead. Susan was always lucky that way, and spent many a blissful week here, both before and after she met me. Our time here was peaceful and replenishing. The picture below, taken with the camera's self timer, adequately reflects Susan's and my feelings on being here. For us, a trip to Wilderness was a visit to our personal Shangri-La.
So it is here that we return to scatter Susan's ashes to signify Susan's eternal connection to the people and places she loved. I am here with Peg whom I met on the Condor Express while being entertained and awestruck by the humpback whales off the Channel Islands near Santa Barbara. Peg has read Susan's book "A Year of Miracles" and strongly identifies with Susan's courage and hope in the face of seemingly overwhelming adversity. Peg lives in Petoskey, 30 miles from Wilderness. Her family has a cabin on Lake Paradise, just 10 miles from Wilderness. I asked her if she would spread Susan's ashes with me on this leg of my continued journey of love and remembrance. She said she would be honored. That's her in this picture with Murphy, her sweet and gentle Goldendoodle companion.
The beach at Wilderness offers a spectacular view of water, sand and sky. To our right, facing east, we can barely make out the Mackinac bridge about 5 miles away, beautifully illuminated in the rays of the late afternoon sun. To our left, facing west, is Waugoshance Point, extending far out into Lake Michigan and directing our view towards Beaver Island, another remote island paradise that Susan and I have explored and enjoyed. The views in each direction are so very different. The sun-drenched east is colorful and alive, details of water, rock and vegetation are fully revealed in all their photogenic glory. But to the west, peering in the direction of the setting sun, the landscape is dark and mysterious, punctuated only by tiny specular reflections of sun glinting off water, dancing momentarily, disappearing, then reappearing elsewhere. The east represents the past. It is fully revealed and unchanging, open to our inspection. The west represents the future, it is mostly dark and unknowable, but it hints at things to come by revealing tiny momentary glimmers of light. As we stand at this spot, looking out across the water to the north, the upper peninsula barely visible on the far shore, we are frozen in the present moment. Past and future are but mindful illusions. All we have, all we are, is right here, now. Memories of what once was and dreams of what may be are swept away by the mighty hand of presence. Presence clutches us in its grip and denies us our daydreams. It commands us that we are here for a divine purpose.
Peg and I remove out shoes and wade out into the water. It is surprisingly warm. Peg uncaps the container of Susan's ashes while I fiddle with the camera settings. The moment has arrived. Peg unhurriedly scatters handfuls of ash while I click away. All sense of time fades. Susan's ashes and this magnificent place are all that occupy the present. Wonderful memories of Susan's and my adventures here are being cast into the water and submerged. Only this moment, here and now, exists. This profound realization brings neither sadness nor joy, but it celebrates our aliveness. And for a few very brief instants my mind penetrates the veil of death and beyond and I am whole once more.
Returning back to Dexter the serene present transforms itself into an angry thunderstorm. The fierceness of the lightening and the roar of the thunder command immediate attention and respect. The TV warns of approaching tornadoes. Rain and hail smash the earth. Be here now the storm warns. Forget the past, the future does not exist, live your life in the present moment and your hopes and dreams will resolve themselves. It is Susan's message to me. Susan the therapist appears in the swirling clouds above my head. Her counsel is practical and wise. I will do my best to heed her words, but I know it will be a daunting challenge.
Returning to my kitchen I am confronted by a ceramic plaque hanging on the wall. "The Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace," it reads.
I wish you the same,
Stan
