Searching for the Source

The creek that runs through our property, Eight Mile Creek, is a beautiful and mysterious part of our new reality. It's always a bit of a trek to get there because it sits in the ravine and you must walk through the woods and somewhat precariously down the side of the hill. When you arrive, though, a whole new world opens up - the smooth rocks, the islands that form when the creek forks, the trees that jut out from the side of the banks...I am always most intrigued by the sounds of the rushing water.

Recently, our adventurous house guests decided that we should "find the source" of this creek and just start walking. There's a bit of a hesitation, of course, because this will necessitate walking on someone else's land. Regardless, we took off on Saturday morning and started exploring. Unlike on our property, at many parts of the creek there are flatlands along one side of the bank (with a steep embankment on the other side). Thus, we had to cross the creek a few different times to get to the side with the flatlands for some easier walking. Crossing over was always a challenge, trying to find the right rocks/footing without falling in.

We discovered many amazing things along the way, both natural and "man made." Mushrooms always drew the group together to check them out (orange ones, red ones, white ones, gray ones), followed by some commentary about the seemingly alien nature of mushrooms. A favorite of one person in our party was a mysterious white, 5 gallon bucket that washed up against an old primitive bridge. She had to open the bucket and inside, to her utter amazement, it was full of corn, some of which was rotten, but mostly not. And we discovered a camp/fire pit that had been set up along the way, a spot that seemed perfect for an all-night vision quest or just hanging out and drinking a few beers. Nearby, we came across a downed tree with a hunter's tree stand still attached to it.

We did some serious bushwhacking on this journey and finally ended up at a pond on which a couple of houses sat (along with a shiny yellow kayak that looked like a lot of fun). It wasn't the source of the creek. According to the map, we probably had another mile to go but it felt like enough for us. So, we turned around and marveled that it took an hour and a half to get there but only about 20 minutes to get back.

Water is the basic substance that connects us in this world. This water on "our" land runs through the land of our neighbors, the land of the deers and turkeys. It flows to Catskill Creek which flows into the Hudson River, which goes to the center of the universe, New York City, and then right into the ocean. As another river in this country is flooding as I write this, it is all too clear that what happens upstream is so intimately connected to what happens downstream.

Living and Dying

This existence of ours is as transient as autumn clouds.
To watch the birth and death of beings is like looking at the movements of a dance.
A lifetime is like a flash of lightning in the sky,
Rushing by, like a torrent down a steep mountain.
-The Buddha

One of the great books of all time is Sogyal Rinpoche's Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. Living and dying are the sole jobs of humans on this earth. You would think we would be pretty good at them since this is all we have to do. Yet, we often make them into a struggle. Nonetheless, it does seem that when somebody dies, people know what to do on a very deep level; it is so fundamental to human existence that it is as if it is genetically encoded as to what to do. Ancient cultural and familial traditions also dictate how to respond. When my brother, Jay, aged 42, died last week from complications due to diabetes, including kidney failure, it seemed that a whole community knew just what to do. People offered their support and food and spiritual direction. They came to a service to honor his life not only because they cared about Jay and the family but because this is the way that communities have always taken care of each other.

When somebody dies, we face grief, an experience that all humans share. As I grieve, I have the sense that I am dipping into a vast universal grief that is beyond my own self. It can be so scary because it feels like you are drowning in an ocean without even a raft to support you. I think of Jay's beautiful, smiling face, and his voice that was so often filled with loving words. It seems impossible that the world could even be without him in it. But, the sadness we all feel about it is actually a beautifully human thing that connects us. This grieving is a part of living and one can only try to do this kind of living well, in the same way that Jay practiced the art of dying.

The Path

Transitioning from living in a Southern post-disaster urban environment below sea level to a Northern rural environment in the hills is disorienting even to the most adaptable person. I compare the sense impressions I used to take in to the ones I take in now. I'll use the Buddhist epistemological framework (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body and mind) for this demonstration...

Eyes - Old = a moldy, boarded-up house across the street that continued to sit empty more than 2 years after the flood; New = a bucolic field with a small pond and a tree-filled mountain in the distance
Ears - Old = The sounds of construction (power tools, workers and stressed out homeowners yelling at each other); New = birds singing, bullfrogs groaning, and lots of quiet
Nose = Old = the indescribable New Orleans funk that takes on new dimensions as the temperature, humidity and wind levels change; New = the smell of the forest
Tongue = Old = fattening fried food; New = vegetarian restaurants with local organic ingredients (I've got to drive a few miles to get to these places)
Body - Old = Sweaty, sweaty, sweaty; New = Doesn't take much to get my heart rate up, just walk down the hill and back to the mailbox
Mind - Old = Pissed off (no parking spots, bad government, pot holes destroying my car) New = Serenity

Okay, it's not really quite so clear cut (good and bad) like that. In reality, the jasmine in the springtime in New Orleans softly wafts across the city while the azaleas knock you out with their beauty. As for here, driving in the wintertime will not be much fun and one of the most highly taxed states (NY) can't balance its budget. At any rate, the photograph here is of a hiking trail in the woods about 5 minutes from my house...

The path before you
Is the same path you just came from
Turn around and you will see yourself
Look ahead and you can glimpse your real soul
Stand still and the whole universe is one