The Earth's Eye
And What the Lake Reflects
Originally posted July, 2024
“A lake is a landscape's most beautiful and expressive feature. It is Earth's eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.”
― Henry David Thoreau
On a Tuesday night in July, my first night of a retreat to our family lake house, I decided I wanted to go out for an after-dinner walk. My family didn’t want to join me; my 10-year old daughter was giggling while playing blackjack with her grandparents. She smiled devilishly as if I had caught her in some act of rebellion. “No, I’m winning!” she said while hiding her cards. “Go ahead without us, have a moment of solitude…” my in-laws echoed as I walked out the door.
The heat of the day had burned off and sun was not-so-rapidly descending on this midsummer evening in the Laurel Highlands of rural Pennsylvania. As I stepped out of the house, a soft breeze blew and I reveled in the golden hue cast on the grasses, houses and the tall pine trees. I walked a 1 mile circular path that would lead back to the house, quickly at first. A mother deer with two babies leaped out of the woods and darted into a heavily wooded area. I listened, not to my own music, but to some distant lake-splashing, the hum of boats and jet-skis in the distance along with birds chirping and insects chittering. I admired some charming lake cottages with their rustic siding which appeared to have been made by rough-cut timbers. Painted rocks and wildflowers lined each side of the road. I could see some porches and outside seating areas, adorned with potted flowers and a few twinkle lights.
With one foot in front of the other, my thoughts drifted to the people who live here. How much laughter has happened inside and out of these adorable homes? What sort of memories have been made here? Are these people happy? It seems there can only be happiness here. And then it went back to my family…to my daughter. For the next few days, I could watch her make memories, enjoy ice cream, boating, hiking, nature - all that the lake life has to offer, before tweeniness and middle school rob her of some aspects of her precious innocence. A deluge of gratitude hit me when I realized I was thinking of something other than what tasks I had to complete today, tomorrow, and in the next week. How I didn’t feel that nagging guilt that I was supposed to be doing something else at the moment. Maybe I was in finally in the moment, something that always seems to elude me. A meditation mantra I often use (and struggle with) came to the forefront of my consciousness: I am here, this is now.
“Perhaps the facts most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man. The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched.”
- Henry David Thoreau
The further I walked, the slower I seemed to go. I could feel so many worries fall away. All that matters is friends, family, and this natural world. That’s it. The lake connects me to what is essential: the importance of slowing down, being in the moment, and making memories with loved ones. Wildness. Deepness. Simplicity. Being nose to nose with nature. This blessed place that is so naturally preserved it is like the world hasn’t entirely gotten its hands on it yet.
I walked back to the house and down to the edge of the lake. The water was still, for a moment, like my mind. The sun was setting. The fleeting moments of the sunset remind me of my own vulnerability, usually only ready to reveal itself for a short time. The sunset’s blues, pinks, purples, yellows, reds and oranges all even more explosive because of their reflections in the water. I am reminded, none of this will last but it will return again. And I will continue to return to this special place, to look into the lake, and hopefully learn everything it wants me to see. I will use the mystical powers of the Earth’s eye.
What I do not (yet) write about here is how all of these lovely feelings of gratitude and joy and sunsets and family came to a screeching halt when I woke up in my bed at home after returning from the lake. Impending doom, finances, responsibility and career-questioning all returned with a vengeance.
The lessons of the lake I thought I had learned have unearthed more questions: why do I need to escape to have any semblance of peacefulness or relaxation? How can I remember what is important when reality seems to be weighing down on me? How can I channel this calm and find balance in my daily life? Does balance exist? How do I continue to be in the Now?
25 responses to drinking and 0 ideas for mindfulness. It’s just basically being here. Sometimes you’re at work and it’s shitty. So be in the shit. You don’t have to like or relish it, just be there, really there. Other times you’re with your family and it’s wonderful. It makes a great story to think about what your daughter’s future will be, but for real life just be there, with her. Just be here.
As I read your piece I was reminded of my own frustrations with feeling like I had arrived somewhere, a place of peace and wholeness that finally spoke to a deeper sense of self, only to return have to return again to circumstances that were the opposite . After several decades of this (and being reminded of it by your post here), I see any progress towards being able to find a permanent arrival more like a series of experiences folding over on themselves that results in a layered experience, much like the stages of a developing embryo. Or as one writer here puts it, a spiral: "Revisiting the past makes us feel like we’re not making progress, but this is an illusion... As we progress, we revisit old chapters even though we are in a different place along our trajectory. The more we revisit these chapters, the more we build upon them and slowly over time, there is a deep transformation of things. It’s in this way that progress is not linear, it’s a spiral." (Metanoia)
I think Western culture pushes the notion that spiritual progression is linear, when it's not. As Alan Watts hinted - "the reason you're the quaking mess is because you're trying not to be the quaking mess."