Thoughts from up north

I’ve returned from my trip to Northern Ontario.  Unfortunately, I’ve come down with the worst cold I’ve had since I fought H1N1 for six weeks last year!  That’s why things have been so slow at my end.  But in the meantime, I thought I’d share a little journal entry I wrote while I was up north.  My time there was magnificent.. and revealing.  I had a lot of time to myself, time in nature, time with family.  Things make sense there – when you step away from the unnecessary complexities of the city, you can learn a lot more about yourself and about life.

“I just finished eating lunch by the lake.  A sandwich with cheese and mayonnaise and kielbasa.  And fresh cucumbers, too.  My parents brought over vegetables from their garden.  Even here, there are fist-sized tomatoes climbing the railing of the deck.

I ate my lunch while watching the wind stroke the landscape.  I could sit here all day, watching the waves rolling in, the leafs falling, the vultures flying overhead.

“While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.” – Neruda

Just a moment ago, I ventured into the forest with my camera.  The vegetation was still sporting sparkly remnants of the vicious storm that had just passed.  Bubbles within bubbles within drops.  I was photographing a flower when I noticed a beautiful patch of green moss.  So I did what I enjoy to do best: I stood still and watched.  Within seconds, little sparks of life revealed themselves in that tiny patch of greenery.  A snail, a spider, a grasshopper, ants and what looked like tiny beetles.

I poked at the snail to see what it would do.  It thickened and its eyes retracted.  Almost the same kind of behaviour as a “rolly polly”.  And when I left it alone, its eyes extended outwards again.  When it felt safe, the snail delicately stretched out and slithered forward.

As I was finishing up my lunch, I thought about how very little I’d been thinking about my life in the city.  I’ve thought of people, but nothing else.  No interest in anything more complex than what fulfills our most basic needs.  Oh sure, I’ve thought about the subject of love but inasmuch as this is a retreat from the city, it is also a retreat from matters of the heart.

(Yeah right)

My thoughts turn to solitude.  I am alone right now.  There are other people nearby.  But, right now, I have the entire cabin, the pointe, the trees, the flowers, the boat, the grass and the deck all to myself.  People here aren’t afraid to be alone.  It’s normal, it’s ok, it’s safe.  The people are friendly and welcoming but they mind their own business.  I have gone from spending time alone to gathering with the locals around their campfires.

There are people here that are dying.  People with only a year or two left.  People waiting for surgeries, drugged up and in pain.  But around the campfire, there’s so much laughter and fun conversation – it’s as though they’re a huge family.  It makes sense to retreat to nature when you’re sick.  It makes sense to be somewhere that is slow-paced, where you can suffer quietly and then get together with people who understand.  People who don’t care about what you’re wearing, what you look like, what you’re eating, what you once did for a living.

So now, I don’t care either.  I don’t care about the rain falling on me while I’m fishing, I don’t care about the wind blowing my hair out of place, I don’t care if I’m all alone right now.  I love it here.

Yes, I love it here.

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