On my long run today I was thinking about ducks. You see, when I was a grade-schooler I used to walk along a stretch of canal on the way to school. There always seemed to be ducks there. To stave off the boredom of the walk I would tell my two younger sisters stories about a duck kingdom. These were stories about heroes and villains, doing the right things and the wrong things, stories with adventure. It seemed so easy back then to tap into the mystery and pull a story together, no matter what a silly thing it was about impossible scenarios and magic. When you are a kid just about everything has some degree of wonder and awe. You see things for the first time - your brain hasn't yet formed all of the patterns and grooves that take away possibilities. I remember constructing these stories almost effortlessly while on our walk just by watching ducks and tapping into something that I didn't understand. Where is it that our stories come from?
I did see ducks on my run. But I think what really brought the nostalgic memories to the front was the set and setting of my trip today. As I was ascending the hills of the peninsula that separate our house from the ocean I was climbing up through the clouds. It was an foggy, cool day and I was in cruise mode. Just motoring with no hurry to be anywhere, letting the mind wander and soaking in with gratitude the privilege of having nothing more important to get done but wander my paths. The foggy days in the forest are some of my favorite. Even though I know every root and bump in the trails, every turn, tree, bridge, the fog seems to spice things up a bit because the normal patterns are obstructed. My mind needs to recalculate to remember what is coming next because I'm working off a constricted set of information. It also blurs the normal sight lines, so you are a little bit more locked in - paying attention to your surroundings because it seems like anything can happen. A new tree fall across the path, surprise animal encounter, other hikers, etc. The fog makes things a little more mysterious. And that was when I spotted the ducks hanging out on the pond. I wondered why it was this set of circumstances that recalled my childhood memories.
I think the fog reminds me that there are possibilities. Almost endless possibilities, and this in turn allows me to remember when I was a child and most things still had mystery. I thought about how the mystery was lost. Do we trade something in when we decide to take our slot in the adult world that we have prescribed for each-other? So you go to school, learn some smart peoples explanations for the whys and whats of this world. Slowly chop away at the mystery. Abstract complicated, not quite understood, observations out to study-able chunks and theorize away. Write down the rules so that the mystery is completely gone. Get a job, get married, buy stuff, pop out some babies, buy more stuff. Parents happy, guidance councilor happy, corporations ecstatic!
The germans have this word Gemütlichkeit. It is a complicated word to translate. What it means to me is it describes a feeling or way of being that is warm, peaceful and comfortable. When I was cruising along the mountain footpaths in the fog observing the ducks and being transported back in time, I was flowing in gemutlichkeit. The mere contemplation of a time when life supplied awe and wonder in a seemingly endless stream seems to warm my soul. So what's the point? There is no point. Just chill out and "hang loose". Life is beautiful.
Ramble over.
