Somewhere in the dim and dusty recesses of my noggin, the inexorable progress of the season and the passage of these all too brief summer days are being marked. A great celestial clock is ticking away in the background, and on hearing it, I can't help thinking about the simple fact that this golden season is passing away.
The other three seasons of a northern calendar year are splendid of course, and there are surely other fine summers ahead, but this summer is fading, and its shining days are numbered, just like everything else in life. Thoughts of coming and going are ever inscribed on summer's middling pages, and they're unsettling notions, making for restlessness and vague discontent, a gentle melancholy concerning transience of all living and earthly things.
An awareness of suchness (or tathata) is a midsummer thing, and for the most part, one goes gently along with the flow, breathing in and out, trying to rest in the moment and doing the things which need doing. Once in a while though, melancholy floats to the surface, and along comes the ancient naysaying crone who dwells at the back of my sconce with her tattered bag of troubling questions. What is the point of these pathetic ramblings with camera and notebook, all the long wordy paragraphs and morning blog entries, she asks slyly, brandishing her wooden spoon and stirring the pot, widdershins of course. What on earth do you think you are doing, and what is this really all about?
The two images here are from summer potterings around a favorite beaver pond on the Two Hundred Acre Wood, and on seeing them, my inner naysayer took a long look and went slinking back into the shadows, hopefully to remain in her cave for quite a while. Was it the confetti colored leaves and strands floating on the surface that sent her packing, the satiny ripples moving slowly outward on the pond, the reflected trees, or the peaceful deep blue of the water? Whatever it was, she got the message.
Sometimes, just sometimes, one catches a glimpse of the Great Mystery when prowling about with camera and notebook on summer days. That is the point of all this - that is what it's all about. Why (however) do I have to keep reminding myself?
July 6, 2012
resting easy in friday rambles