Fog

Morning sun made its way to afternoon cloudy dampness.  By dinner the fog had rolled in over the lake.  I could still see the other side, but it was through this hazy smear, uncharacteristically low to the water.  A few tangibly outlined clouds imposed themselves onto the mountain across from me.  The dining room had emptied out, I was in the office late and came to dinner just before it got taken away and the washing up began.  It was lovely, sitting there in that near empty dining room with only one other lingering inhabitant, each of us savouring our dinner.  I watched the fog and sat content.

On my way home I couldn’t help but be drawn to the water.  The fog had moved even closer around me, nuzzling against the trees and wrapping the ashram in its cozy, dewy arms.  I took the steps down to the lake.  Rounding the corner of the prayer rooms to encompass the full view I couldn’t help but smile to myself.  “Is this even real?” I had to ask myself aloud “Is this kind of beauty possible?”  It must be as it is present in the world.  A fog enshrouded lake with monolithic mountains standing firmly behind the gauze of water suspended in air.  The surface of the water was motionless reflecting the greying mist.  But no, that’s not quite true.  I stepped closer to the lake, freeing myself from the moist grass that seeped through my shoes, onto the rocks shifting under my feet as I edged closer to the water.  I saw that the water’s top was alive with countless droplets landing softly on its bed.

I shifted my face skyward to feel the drizzle of rain on my face.  I couldn’t help but think about an image that came to me earlier in the week: a picture of myself peeping over a small forest pool to a giant ruby underneath.  Will looking through the murky depths reveal a reservoir of strength and security within me?  I’ve always been drawn to water.  Being able to metaphorically see clearly through it and freely discover just what is forming my foundation is a gift.  I sometimes get bothered by the rain solely because it leaves spots on my glasses making it harder to me to see clearly.  Now that I’ve started wearing contacts I held my face up towards to sky for a long time, feeling the gentle drizzle of rain.  The water isn’t blurring my vision anymore; I can turn my face to the rain and still see clearly.  Perhaps that broad red ruby is beginning to reveal itself to me.  I’m able to see through the mist.

I’m drawn to this scene so much that I return to the lake after satsang.  I played in the band tonight, a lovely offering with the person leading talking about harmony and having us there to put it into musical practice.  It’s late but I know I want to go back and see more, to simply witness the expanse of misty view that I know awaits me at the water’s edge.

Finding my way down the cobbled steps and around the corner of the prayer rooms once again I am not disappointed.  The light is darker now but the same drip-drip of the collected mist falling off the new leaves accompanies my path to the water.  There are geese out on the water.  Their bodies contrast the flat starkness of the water’s calm.  Somehow I feel as though my heart it pulled out of my chest looking at this lake.  I’m joined by another coming down to enjoy the peace of a drizzly lake in the evening fog.  “It’s like the lines are blurred” she says.  Yeah, that’s it, that’s perhaps why I am so drawn.  The difference between the water, air, clouds and mountains isn’t as obvious in this kind of weather.  Somehow they all seem to merge into one.  Fog is able to do that, twist around everything from the proud tree tops to the rocks jutting out over the lake.  It can encompass everything until it all seems blended into one.  Like harmony, making a single, solid chord yet only because each tone is different.