I can't sleep…
4:00 a.m. Another restless night. Deep sleep, waits for another day.
It’s time.
I walk.
It’s been 1,902 consecutive (almost) days on this twilight walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.
I’m walking at the top of the Marina, warily making my way around rocks, glistening and coated with algae.
I hear soft murmurs.
What is that? I stop, to listen.
Continue reading “Walking. Sunday Morning.”
Can you find the Canada Goose in the shot above? I’ll wait until you find it. Yes, there. The speck, bottom right. Hold that thought.
It’s Thursday, 1514 consecutive (almost) days on this morning daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.
I step into the park. It’s dark.
I walk.
I’ve had a flurry of chatter around me about Signs.
They see signs in the spotting of Cardinals, Blue Jays, Feathers, Hearts, Sparrows, Robins, and even Moths.
Don’t you see it DK? There!
I’ve grown up. (A little.) I stare quietly, body language not giving anything up, offering a look of contemplation. The thought process having evolved from “are you kidding me, you don’t really believe that, do you? aka George Carlin style: Religion: A Bullshit Story.
Continue reading “Walking. With a Sign?”
It’s the Christmas season, and that means I’m looking forward to going to church. On its own, that might not sound too surprising: Half of Americans plan to do the same this holiday season. But in my case, it might seem a little strange. While I still know all the prayers and when to sit and stand, from my days as an altar boy, I left my faith and churchgoing behind long ago. As a scientist, I wouldn’t be hubristic enough to claim that God doesn’t exist; that’s a question science can’t definitively answer. But neither can I find any objective evidence for God’s fingerprints in this world. So for me, church has lost its luster—except, that is, at Christmas.
When late December rolls around, I want to go to church, even though I don’t believe in much of the creed. And if recent surveys about Americans’ holiday plans are accurate, I’m not alone. Many people who don’t set foot in a church through most of the year show up at Yuletide, including 10% of nonbelieving atheists and agnostics. Why? That’s a question to which I think I’ve finally found an answer.
The Christmas mass isn’t just an entertaining thing to do, like going to see Radio City’s Christmas Spectacular. Nor is it a simple reminder of cherished family holiday traditions. For me, and I suspect many others, going to church at Christmas offers a different kind of experience, one that’s spiritual if not religious.
That might sound like an oxymoron, but in practice it’s not. Following a religion means embracing a theology and often an institution. There’s a set of beliefs laying out what God is and what God wants, and also a list of rules to follow. Spirituality, on the other hand, tends to be more experiential than cerebral. It’s a sense that there is a sacredness to life, something ineffable but not necessarily divine, that we can catch glimpses of or even commune with at times. Religion and spirituality aren’t mutually exclusive; one can often lead to the other. But they are separable.
Continue reading “It’s a sense that there is a sacredness to life”
And here I go, 1,292 consecutive (almost) days on this daybreak morning walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.
There she stood on the dock, a Great Blue Heron, vigilant, stoic, absorbing a light drizzle.Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for what?
I walk.
Compared to yesterday’s magical sunrise, today, TODAY, was just painfully uninspiring — with the bonus of rain spitting all over the camera gear. It took all of me, all that I had, to keep forward motion and not take a u-turn back to the exit.
I walk.
A supersized BK soft drink cup lay on the path, teethmarks on the recyclable straw where the pollutant ingested the soda. Trash bins everywhere around this park, yet here it is. “I’m still willing to buy that life is beautiful if you dress it up right, that people are basically good, or that love can save you. I still want to believe.” (Jonathan Evison, Again and Again ) Continue reading “Walking. It is so easy to forget…”
Here we go. 1,153 consecutive (almost) days on this daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.
I’m off.
71° F. Humidity? One billion % and climbing.
Mimi, in her FB comment: A brooding kind of beauty — and even the birds are holding court in silence.”
And they were silent. A Great Blue Heron. A pair of egrets. A Yellow-Crowned Night Heron. Gulls, and their wings.
Just another morning at Cove Island Park.
I walk.
But, the Mind isn’t here this morning. Yes, it’s certainly here at Cove Island Park, but meaning not Here, and Now.
It drifts back 10 days or so. I’m at the end of my walk and there under the bench sits a Diamondback Terrapin turtle. No, I didn’t have a clue it was a Diamond Terrapin Turtle, Google Lens did though: “The Northern diamondback terrapin is the only species of turtle in North America, including Connecticut, that spends its life in brackish water…and they are most abundant in tidal estuaries west of the Connecticut River.”
Like who knew? Most abundant in tidal estuaries in Connecticut. Brackish water. This sticks.
I’m staring at this creature, at the intricate designs of its shell, and wonder what he’s doing so far away from brackish water. “Injured? Lost? Resting? Kid dragged you from the water, and had a little fun with you.” Not sure why that last disturbing thought crossed my mind, no, please, not that. Continue reading “Walking. Touched by a Terrapin.”