Ponds, Rocks, and Finding Oneself
Yesterday was a long day, filled with the requirements of my day job. Gratefully, I was able to exercise some of those little used videography muscles and, while my next week is going to be filled with editing and assembly, I have a purpose. Regretfully, it meant that I wasn’t able to weave stories together for you here but, I’ll make up for it in the balance of the week.
On every second Sunday of the month, my youngest takes care of the babies and toddlers at her mother’s church. Suspiciously, it falls most times on my weekends with her but, as she’s gotten older, she’s insisted that our time together doesn’t terminate then but continues on afterwards. I do have to remind her that giving her word to the church to care for the kids means she can’t just bounce out of it with 24hrs notice (despite how horrendously this institution has acted over the years).
While she’s off tending to the small souls of the forgetten, I get to tend to my soul in the wilds of central Massachusetts. This usually involves Google Maps and a cardinal direction. Previously, it’s ended with me at a small regional airport and this Sunday, it took me past ponds, warehouses, and the time capsules of an industrial age long since past.
The first stopping point was this resevoir just outside the town of New Braintree, Massachuetts. It may not seem like much but, with the jagged edges of winter coming to bear, there’s this awesome effect of mist and fog hovering over the surface of the water. It’s that meteorological magic of cooler air and warmer water that we immortalize in scary movies without giving much credence to the “whys” of it all.
Hidden in the wisps was this rock which you can barely see peeking above. It’s resolute in its standing, no doubt forged from the fires of primordial seas and tectonic shifts, come to rest in this backwater pond of no real significance. It has, perhaps, stories to tell from long ago, of the animals who found shelter under its craggy nooks, of the birds who rested on its granite crown, and the endless cycle of moonlight and starlight, sunrises and sunsets.
As I described my work at the beginning of this story, I noted that I was exceptionally busy with doing the stuff I’m paid for. It’s a bit like being fogged in, seeing only that which is in front of me, what I have to do.
A lot of time, our perspectives are from the rock of our resolution: the tasks that have to be done, the circumstances that have to be controlled, the people/places/things/others that…require us to take deep breaths.
Funny how perspective shifts all of that away, isn’t it? Standing on the shore, I’m able to see where that rock nests in the order of things: the pine trees surrounding it from different sides, the fog that only gently touches it before fading to ephemeral mist in the distance, the water caressing the hardened exterior. It’s a perspective removed from the place of primary concern and brought to the shores of contemplation.
My dear souls, how often are we this rock? How often are we shrouded in the cares of the moment, of the must-haves and the must-dos? How much do we suffer for the near-sightedness of these troubling times without giving much thought to the larger circumstance in which we find ourselves?
We need the reminder that we fit into, like a rock in a pond or a piece in a puzzle, a bigger story than just us.
As we wind our way through the week, no doubt to more chaos and chatter, step back and try to get a different view of your world. Try standing on the shore and looking across the horizon to see what composes your story. It may not be all sunshine and roses but, it’s a perspective that couldn’t exist without you and, in my humble opinion, is made all the better for you being there.
May it ever be so.
