October 06, 2006
Opening to the Universe
Honestly, all this Foleydara has completely distracted me from my higher purpose, the least of which is adding my voice to the rest of the blogosphere in appreciation of all the contrast that the neoconservative clack provides to those of us who cherish the beauty and purpose of true democracy. In doing so, I almost forgot to publish my photographic documentation of synchronistic communication(s) with nature last weekend. Ready?
Saturday, at dawn, I saw a blue heron, prettily illuminated, in the cove in front of the cottage for the first time this summer.
Later that morning, on a bike ride along the canal, I happened upon the briards
a veritable bevy of them.
The bluefish were running and all the fishermen were out, as was the blue heron. My photographic assistant kindly made a disturbing noise so that I could shoot her in flight.
Saturday evening I went to see "The Science of Sleep", a fascinating film about a romance between two young artists . The task of the viewer is to understand what parts of the movie are dreams, and what parts are reality. Ironically, during the screening I was overcome by an irresistable urge to fall asleep, which I fought, almost successfully, with headsnapping whiplash.
Saturday night I had my own dream in two parts. In the first segment, I was in Tibet, imprisoned by the Chinese , the origin of which I will attribute to an excellent book I'm reading,
Upon awakening from my dreams, I rushed out to shoot the sunrise. I was convinced that I saw the blue heron again, across the bridge. I was drawn toward her so powerfully, that I actually thought I was being a little silly. There wasn't enough light to photograph the heron well, as you can see, but it's a pretty accurate picture of my myopic perception at the time. She's just to the right of the umbrellas, at the edge of the high tide mark.
As I got closer, I realized that was not a heron at all, but an anchor at low tide. I shot it anyway, and wondered why I was so pulled to this spot.
Then I I turned around to return to the cottage, and saw the spectacle above my very own cove.
As I walked closer, I found myself yearning to show the rainbow to someone. I heard a rustle on a nearby porch and thought of calling the rustler out to see. Then I heard a voice behind me. "You never see a rainbow on the water, isn't it beautiful? Wish granted, I turned to see a woman in a running suit with long wavy red hair, slightly disheveled, carrying a cloth bundle. I thought she had probably been sleeping on the beach, and I felt a little scared of her. She too had been having regrets that noone was around to see the rainbow. I told her I'd been looking for the blue heron, and she asssured me that it would be around in the afternoon low tide. I noticed that she was missing a front tooth. I thought her appearance at this moment was spooky, in sweet kind of way. My more woowoo aspect suspected that she was a messenger of some kind, from somewhere, and I was experiencing fear of the unknown.
Later in the afternoon I spotted the blue heron fishing on the canal again, and snapped two inflight, if blurry, photos. The delay on my little digital is not perfect for capturing quick creatures.
And here ends my little adventure. I'm sure the spell that my nurtritionist cast on Friday afternoon wore off toward Sunday night, and I haven't had a mystical sighting since. You are probably breathing a sigh of relief.
But don't get too comfortable Keith Olbermann was eloquent once again, and it's a four star listen.