A House of Light
The Punta Gorda lighthouse was built in 1910 along a stretch of beach that came to be known as the Lost Coast. In the Pacific Northwest, coastal fog and rugged strand made passage by ship dangerous, especially prior to the sonar technologies that only came into wider use in the 1940s.
I had the good fortune the spend a few days backpacking along the Lost Coast and was able to see and climb up the skeleton of this hundred year old structure. The brick, iron, and view are all that remain of a project that was built on an inaccessible coastline. It was placed here not because it was beautiful, not because it was easy, but because it was needed.
Considering the lighthouse this past week and current challenges that face the planet and the life that lives on it, I was reminded of one of BJ Palmer's epigrams:
"It is better to light one candle than curse the darkness."
Good Fortune
Every once in a while, a fortune cookie offers true wisdom.
Nearly two years ago, when visiting Seattle on my initial reconnaissance mission to the Pacific Northwest, I had dinner with two friends, one from high school and one from college. At the end of the meal, some fortune cookies were passed around and we all cracked them open. Fortune cookie fortunes contain all manner of messages, some generic, some insightful, some funny, and some absolutely nonsensical.
On this particular occasion, I was gifted with yet another sign that I was on the right course. It read,
Getting together with old friends brings new adventures.
I held on to that fortune for nearly two years, waiting for the right time to pass it along. This past weekend I was fortunate enough to have the sense and the resources to travel back to the East coast to attend the wedding of my good friend. I presented the fortune to his best man, our mutual best friend. It was a small token, but oftentimes the simplest things are the most profound, and the most important.
Slow It Down
In his first summer in the Sierra, John Muir was hired to help shepherd a flock of sheep up into the mountains. He mused about the rocks and the trees, the clouds, and the majesty of Yosemite.
There are many reasons I enjoy reading Muir, but perhaps more than anything else, it is because he serves to remind me of pace. More specifically, to slow...it...down.
A slower pace allows us to draw focus to the present, to identify certain patterns and habits that are done unconsciously, and to highlight areas of strength or deficit. I believe this applies across all spectra - everything from clinical practice, to yoga, to a walk in the woods.
It can be challenging to be more deliberate in thought and action. There is often an inverse relationship between doing things well and doing them quickly. This does not mean we need to become like the tortoise all of the time (although there is case to be made for why he wins), but rather to practice taking a page out of John Muir’s book once in a while:
"Life seems neither long nor short, and we take no more heed to save time or make haste than do the trees and stars. This is true freedom, a good practical sort of immortality."
