At Wingaersheek

And all things hushed. Yet even

in that silence a new beginning,

beckoning, change appeared.

........Rainer Maria Rilke,

Sonnets to Orpheus

We went to Wingaersheek Beach late this afternoon. The tide was out -- a marvelous event at Wingaersheek. You can walk a mile out to sea on the sand bar that appears. Clea, my daughter, wanted especially to go. Few people were there at 4:00; the sun was soft as was the cool breeze. The sky was wonderfully blue. Perfect. We saw a very large schooner pass on the horizon; and behind it, a smaller boat with black sails. Like a mystical pirate vessel. We walked the sandbar, then settled down on the same huge rock plateau we've always called "our rock" since the kids were small.

DJ (the 14 year old) was moody and itchy; he doesn't know how to be without his friends or his X-Box. Keira (almost 5) had scraped her knee so was being tragic. Clea was thoughtful; her surgery coming up next Tuesday. I settled my focus on the lighthouse at the end of the mainland, and the slow incoming tide. There seemed to be an unexpected silence. As though I were suddenly inside a bubble that closed out all sound. I felt something shift. Something changed. I know it happened; I can feel it now so many hours later; I don't, however, know its name.

Do you recognize that hushed moment-- that instant stop, as though there had been a minuscule break in a phone connection followed by a different voice picking up the earlier conversation. Extremely odd, but not disconcerting. I recognized a similar event recently -- actually several events -- causing the same effect. People have appeared out of my past; serendipitously. A couple were folks I haven't thought about in years, but seemed to come around a corner as surprised to see me as I was to see them. Each had a message for me though not realizing they were delivering one. (confused yet?) One is someone I have thought about often for many years; a dear, old friend and colleague. He may or may not realized he had a message he was delivering. Possibly I, too, am a messenger in this case. But with each re-meeting that stopped moment occurred. And that shift. Ever so slight, its impact will last for my forever. It may have to do with my work, with my intentions, with my journey. I don't know yet. But I feel the change coming. And I know it's a positive one.

It's been a difficult year in so many respects. And I imagine there will be more difficulties ahead before the radio plays Auld Lang Syne. But I know all will be well. I know something new is stirring, as though the Wingaersheek sand has touched the smallest spot and has begun a pearl. (that reads rather corny to me, but I'm going with it anyway.)

I have always believed that we are given a certain number of people in our lives. They come, they stay, they leave, we leave. But if we have unfinished business, if the purpose of our knowing each other hasn't been resolved, we will meet again. So the adventure continues and can't be forced.

The difference is palpable, if only to me. Perhaps I need to walk Wingaersheek again. And again. Remembering Rilke:

The work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.