Wednesday, November 17, 2004
A Hidden World Below
Today it was Stow Lake once more, again the late afternoon sun gilding the gleaming surface of grass and trees, again Nora pulling and tugging at the leash. My attention is focused on her and her pranks, so I do not observe my fellow promenaders as closely as before. But I do spot a few mothers pushing their babes, a few elderly folk proceeding cautiously on their canes.
When Nora and I pass the concession stand, we go by the picnic tables on the widened sidewalk nearby. This area is a favorite gathering place for aging Russian émigrés. Nearby is a part of the city which is “their” neighborhood; it even contains an Orthodox Church with an onion dome. Once last summer when I was passing by, a woman (obviously one of the attendants for this group outing from a retirement home) was playing plaintive Russian songs on her accordion, while her elderly charges, some in wheelchairs, listened and nodded. A few even danced in stately dignity to these nostalgic ballads.
Today a small remnant is examining what appears to be a large map (or is it a game board?), spread out over the table. I wonder if it is a map of Russia. Perhaps they are telling stories of their homeland, where they were born, even what life was life for them there. Then I reflect that they would likely have been born around 1920, too young to have fled the country alone. Perhaps their parents got out a few years later. These adults speak Russian, so they must have lived there for at least a few years.
I think about how quickly things can change, how a life that seems settled and fixed can suddenly be turned totally around by some intense and unforeseen happening. And, of course, that makes me think of kundalini, which so frequently strikes us when we are least expecting it, possibly have not even heard of it. Something unknown seems to control our destiny in its bare outlines. Hence (I think) the futility of making too detailed life plans. There is always a blank card which we cannot read ahead of time.
As we circle along on the western edge of the lake, I realize that something is different here today. The sun is at a low angle, and the pines lining the edge of the little island tucked away in the center are reflected below in the water, swaying and rippling with the current. The water is pristine, clearer than I have ever seen it. The great pine trunks extend both upward and downward, each image mirroring the other in a kind of primal luster. I pause to savor this undulating harmony.
It is as if there is a hidden, underwater world, a secret realm beneath, opened here in this special moment. I am held in semi-trance. I wonder if indeed there are not other such underwater kingdoms, the source of the stories of nymphs and sprites and other nature spirits, who inhabit a fairy realm, one which calls to us when we are least aware. There are many stories of those who were captured and carried away to magic places by such hypnotic beings. Likewise, there are modern tales of UFO’s stationed out of sight in bodies of water. Water is mysterious, fascinating, the place of the unknown. I think how easy it would be to linger here indefinitely, lulled by irresistible beauty. Suddenly I know why Narcissus jumped.
And again, my thoughts turn to kundalini, how those of us who participate in its mysterious stirrings inhabit a world invisible to the majority. We are at once perceivable residents of the mundane world, and the undetected dwellers of an unknown universe. It is as if we have been called to join a secret society, which others can neither see nor comprehend.
Yes, I could linger here mesmerized by the wavering surface and plangent depth forever, but the light is fading, and I must hurry home. I think of Robert Frost’s well known poem, “Stopping by Woods,” with its famous ending lines:
“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.”
Today it was Stow Lake once more, again the late afternoon sun gilding the gleaming surface of grass and trees, again Nora pulling and tugging at the leash. My attention is focused on her and her pranks, so I do not observe my fellow promenaders as closely as before. But I do spot a few mothers pushing their babes, a few elderly folk proceeding cautiously on their canes.
When Nora and I pass the concession stand, we go by the picnic tables on the widened sidewalk nearby. This area is a favorite gathering place for aging Russian émigrés. Nearby is a part of the city which is “their” neighborhood; it even contains an Orthodox Church with an onion dome. Once last summer when I was passing by, a woman (obviously one of the attendants for this group outing from a retirement home) was playing plaintive Russian songs on her accordion, while her elderly charges, some in wheelchairs, listened and nodded. A few even danced in stately dignity to these nostalgic ballads.
Today a small remnant is examining what appears to be a large map (or is it a game board?), spread out over the table. I wonder if it is a map of Russia. Perhaps they are telling stories of their homeland, where they were born, even what life was life for them there. Then I reflect that they would likely have been born around 1920, too young to have fled the country alone. Perhaps their parents got out a few years later. These adults speak Russian, so they must have lived there for at least a few years.
I think about how quickly things can change, how a life that seems settled and fixed can suddenly be turned totally around by some intense and unforeseen happening. And, of course, that makes me think of kundalini, which so frequently strikes us when we are least expecting it, possibly have not even heard of it. Something unknown seems to control our destiny in its bare outlines. Hence (I think) the futility of making too detailed life plans. There is always a blank card which we cannot read ahead of time.
As we circle along on the western edge of the lake, I realize that something is different here today. The sun is at a low angle, and the pines lining the edge of the little island tucked away in the center are reflected below in the water, swaying and rippling with the current. The water is pristine, clearer than I have ever seen it. The great pine trunks extend both upward and downward, each image mirroring the other in a kind of primal luster. I pause to savor this undulating harmony.
It is as if there is a hidden, underwater world, a secret realm beneath, opened here in this special moment. I am held in semi-trance. I wonder if indeed there are not other such underwater kingdoms, the source of the stories of nymphs and sprites and other nature spirits, who inhabit a fairy realm, one which calls to us when we are least aware. There are many stories of those who were captured and carried away to magic places by such hypnotic beings. Likewise, there are modern tales of UFO’s stationed out of sight in bodies of water. Water is mysterious, fascinating, the place of the unknown. I think how easy it would be to linger here indefinitely, lulled by irresistible beauty. Suddenly I know why Narcissus jumped.
And again, my thoughts turn to kundalini, how those of us who participate in its mysterious stirrings inhabit a world invisible to the majority. We are at once perceivable residents of the mundane world, and the undetected dwellers of an unknown universe. It is as if we have been called to join a secret society, which others can neither see nor comprehend.
Yes, I could linger here mesmerized by the wavering surface and plangent depth forever, but the light is fading, and I must hurry home. I think of Robert Frost’s well known poem, “Stopping by Woods,” with its famous ending lines:
“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.”
