Listen.

There I was, paddling through the morning mist. Not a ripple on the lake. Glorious sunrise. A loon visible in the mist. Warning warble as it goes about life, following some inner path. It dove out of sight and I held my breath, waiting for it to surface, trying to anticipate where it would surface, looking for a primal pattern. A solitary loon in the midst of life. There is something wonderfully right about what has transpired. Listen.

1.2 Alone in the midst

There I was, frozen in thought. Of all the experiences of life for a middle aged person, how come this simple scene is so wonderfully powerful, so wonderfully right? So connecting? How deep does one have to go, how far back, before a connection is made between this primal sense of harmony and the roaring machine of modern society? How does one think about non-thinking things? How does one rationalize the non-rational? Can one?

I am alone in the world. There is me and there is the rest of the world. There is this mind, isolated, only able to perceive the rest of the world. I am alone in the mist. I am that loon in the mist. I am that loon in the midst.