Advent 2018

 

One balmy February day, as I was walking through Oxbow Park along the Sandy River, I spied these creatures on the beach ~ hundreds of cairns stacked with personality and possibility. There was the plump, maternal cairn, and a priest gazing over his flock.  Beyond him was the young family of three and then, there was me, with the granite weight heavily balancing on top instead of serving as a stable foundation.

I’ve always understood cairns to be trail markers or memorials. Which were these? The beginning of a journey, or the end? As a beginning, these cairns on the beach were a poor guide for me. There was no clear path between, and I was overwhelmed by the multitude of directions. There have been times in my life journey when I have been paralyzed by possibilities and could not decide when, where, or how to begin. The only way to manage was to sit in the middle, write, and wait until all options fell away or, as Rumi said, until you “feel yourself being quietly drawn by the deeper pull of what you truly love.”

This moment at the Sandy River marked a beginning of a new relationship. I had been single for 12 years, free to walk wherever I chose, to wait for as long as I chose. But now, I walked hand-in-hand, pulse to pulse, with another. In awe of what we saw, I wondered, does she see what I see? New love in our fifties is frightening ~ four feet sinking and squeaking in a sandy foundation, while the solid stone stood still and silent in precarious towers. Memorials of each of our pasts, guidance for the future, or just a bunch of stones stacked by a bored beachcomber? And the river rushed cold toward its ocean end.