Fortunately, I have a place to go where this can happen. Just north of Hale'iwa Ali'i Beach Park, the shoreline curves seaward. There, a number of trees have taken root, their graceful branches arcing across the sand. It's a quiet place, away from nearly all of the tourist traffic. Swimmers don't come here much because the exposed lava rock beneath the surface make it a hazardous place for feet, hands, and elbows. But I don't go there to swim. Under the shade of those trees, I sit in my beach chair, stretch out my legs, and rest.
It was a mostly sunny day, a bit of a relief from the spotty showers that signal the onset of the wet season here. The trade winds were back, bringing a refreshing breeze which lowered the heat and kept the flies away. After getting settled, I leaned back and listened to the steady roll and wash of the surf, a sound that always relaxes me. Pretty soon, I began to see sea turtles floating among the rocks at the water's edge, occasionally sticking up a head to look around. The steady breeze crenelated the surface of the sea, but not harsh enough to raise whitecaps. It was a perfect, peaceful moment.
I sat there for several hours, not thinking about anything. I had brought a pad a pen along in case inspiration proffered, but I was content to sit quietly, and just...be.
I need this time. Unfortunately, the vicissitudes of life make it less available than I'd like, so when the opportunity presents itself, I head north.
I kind of lost track of the time as the afternoon passed. Above, puffy clouds slowly passed, only occasionally blocking the sun. I felt myself slowly relaxing, my muscles gradually relaxing to the point where scratching my nose felt like a major effort. I could hear the birds in the trees, singing their songs, occasionally descending to the sand where they wobbled past, giving me an inquisitive sidelong glance. Little insects skittered across the sand, always zipping landward when a wave got too close. With my mind empty and undistracted, all the details of life became visible.
This time, like all the other times before, came to an end. I packed up my belongings and returned to my life, feeling healed, but still reluctant to leave.
In the days since, I've thought about other times, other places when I have sought such peace. There have been other places, and those moments returned in memory.
The Appalachian Trail was a treasure trove of such moments. In the spring, with the warm breezes blowing rustling the new leaves among the tree branches. Wildflowers covered the ground, the true sign of new life. Creatures great and small populated the forest, sharing their home with me. Even in the winter there were moments on cold, clear days when the forest was completely silent, save for the creaking and groaning of tree limbs as they rocked back and forth. It was an eerie sound, occasionally interrupted by the sad cawing of a passing crow.
There were the early mornings, hiking in the Arizona desert, taking in the magnificent vistas, and catching sight of the subtle hues of the land as the sun rose. I walked among the solitary sentry-like giant saguaro, happily alone and isolated.
Sunsets, everywhere I've seen them, lighting up the sky in such colors vivid enough to steal one's breath. Waiting as our planet's star sinks below the horizon, and one by one, those tiny glints of light -- the stars and planets that fill the heavens appear in the sky. The incredible explosion of color that is autumn, turning the forest into a natural fireworks show.
There have been those transient moments in front of a computer or with notepad in hand when the words that tumbled out of my brain meshed together into prose that so elevated itself above earlier efforts, the joyous satisfaction with getting something exactly, perfectly right.
I remember an evening as the day was coming to the end as I was gliding along the endless straight line that is US 54 through Kansas. The sun, as it fell, began to color the endless wheat fields with all kinds of delicate hues as I raced the sunset across the prairie.
Winter...those times when the air was still and flakes fluttered out of the sky, big and fluffy as the ground slowly turned white. In the silence, I could actually hear the soft sound as the snowflakes settled onto the drifts. Quiet, peaceful, truly a Silent Night.
I still remember with great clarity the first time I held my children, and then my grandchildren, looking at those small bundles of humanity, and knowing that their future was entirely uncharted. They would go forth without limits, hopefully turning loose on the world their considerable talents and joyous personalities. And especially those moments when the burrowed into my arms and said, "I love you."
My wife, Cheryl, my long-suffering spouse of 42 years; still as breath-takingly beautiful as she was the first time I saw her across the gleaming wood of a bowling alley. Those moments when we were together and able to leave burdens behind, and just enjoy being us.
I also remember those more difficult moments of sadness and stress, when life seemed on the verge of conquering me. I remember those because it is the dark that makes the light so bright and cheery. I remember the pain, because it makes those moments of healing so special.
I treasure all the times of my life, both good and bad, because this is the journey that has made me. I am the product of everything I have seen, felt, smelled, tasted, and heard over these many years. Like many of the trails I have hiked, it has been a trek of steep ascents, rocky and root-strewn paths. Magnificent vistas, and the fear of being lost off-trail. I am still moving forward, much slower these days, still tackling hills and rocks, reefs and shoals. But always looking for those times when the moment becomes something eternal.
When God reaches down and gently touches my heart.
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