It's pleasantly perfectly warm under me, this huge slab of driftwood
(once a tree trunk?), generously sharing with me its solid, flat, bland
energy through the palms of my hands and the backs of my legs. It's a
seat for all occasions, a bench for the beauty of this one endless
moment. How it got here, only
God
knows. How it got to be this way, only
God
knows. But get here it clearly did, and get to be this way it did too -
probably as randomly and as incongruously (when you come to think about
it) as I got to be here, as I got to be this way.
It's ideally positioned behind a sand dune resplendent with beach
grasses, shrubs, succulents, colorful wild flowers, and tiny bushes
generically known in the Afrikaans language as
fynbos (pronounced feign boss - translation:
"fine bush") which punctuate every slow, steady breath I take with
subtle aromas of heath, clay, marshland, and ozone. There's hardly any
wind, so there's no impediment at all to the sound of easily
surfable
waves in the not too far distance reaching into this enclave, rising,
crescendo-ing, crashing, fading to silence ... again, and again, and
again.
Something brushes against my fingers. I look down. It's a tiny lizard.
Dappled brown with inlays of black diamonds on his back, he seems so
completely unafraid. Then I realize he probably is
unafraid. He probably hasn't learned to be afraid ... of
people, yet, anyway.
Out here
I may be the first person with whom he's ever shared this driftwood
bench. But it's more than simply he's unafraid of me. It's like he, not
I, owns this place. It's like he's its custodian. It's like he's
granting me his permission to be in his sanctuary. Thanking him, I turn
my eyes back to the waves, enjoying a new incoming set until they're
gone, their last churning foam disappearing, merging into the blue of
the ocean. When I look down again, I notice he's gone too.
I'm filled - in every way imaginable - by this view. By what's in front
of me and behind me. By what's underneath me. By what's above me. By
what's to the left of me and to the right of me. Shattered are any and
all limitations arbitrarily imposed on what's possible for beauty in
the world. And this is, after all, merely the view of the physical
universe. This is merely what's real with nothing
added and with nothing taken away. This doesn't even begin to take into
account what human beings are endowed to
createlike a possibility. It doesn't even begin to take into account
the gift of human
creativity
with regard to music, with regard to
art,
with regard to drama, with regard to poetry, with regard to design,
indeed with regard to speaking our very lives into
existence day by day by day. This is merely a view of the way
the physical universe is (and of the way it isn't).
For one brief moment I'm able to get myself completely out of its way
and let it be. When I get myself out of its way, then and only
then can I let it be and really be with it. And when I really
be with it, it awes me. With its complexity. With its sublimity. With
its depth. With its simplicity. With its obviousness. With its
presence. With its magnificence. With its
in‑your‑face demanding-to-be-noticed-ness.
There's it: the physical universe, pristine and unwavering
in its no-compromise integrity - whole, complete,
eternal. And then there's what we humans beings bring to it by
way of our
creativity
like a possibility, like a
contribution
to it, like making a difference to it, like the possibility of making a
difference serving it.
And as I'm reveling in seeing this two-fold reality from
this driftwood bench, suddenly something else makes its
presence
known to me. It surreptitiously comes into my consciousness like a
lingering breathy note blown softly (at first) on a reed flute, rising
steadily in volume and intensity, saying "Here I am! Here I am!". And
when I see it, which is to say when I can get myself to see it, I'm
touched by something so basic, by something so profound it
puts me into a space of ecstasy and
moves me to tears
at the same time.
I stand up and away from this driftwood bench, turning to face it,
placing my palm flat on it one last time, thanking it for the view it
provides by just being here,
God
knows how.
