As I write, the sound of falling rain predominates my awareness with a tapping sound that is dramatically percussive. Now, moments later, it has a softer patter. I sit on a sofa across from a large window which gives me a view of the sky, which is uniformly gray and heightens the vividness of the orange color of the trumpet flowers that live by the window. I sit here watching the flowers and the tops of the pine trees moving with the wind, and I get a comfy feeling. It invites me to close my eyes, take a snooze, and do nothing. Yet even here, on vacation, some "shoulds" emerge. There are books I brought to read, exercises I wrote down to stay in shape, art supplies waiting to be touched, and pictures to be painted or studios to visit. I let go. The thoughts pass. I am aware of the preciousness of time. A little over half our vacation is over. I read Mary Oliver's in Blackwater Woods this morning in the meditation group I lead every Monday and Friday morning.
...
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it
go,
to let it go.
The time has not yet come to let the vacation go, but I am aware of its ending. We walk the dog in the morning along a local beach and always stop and say hello and chat with the "regulars" like us. It's our social hour, and I hold it dear. It's not only a beautiful beach, but the people are interesting, and everyone is friendly. We meet people from far away and locals living on the island. Knowing our time on this beautiful beach is limited heightens how special it is to share the moments of exuberant dogs, water, sand and sky, and poop bags which we carry as we consciously monitor our pets to make sure everyone is safe, well behaved and the beach continues to be pristine. We've been taking a vacation here for many years; some children are now adults, and some of our adult friends are graying like us. Conversations have changed, but smiles and mutual pleasure connect us. This, too, shall pass—and we all know it.
I've been very aware of impermanence … and the wisdom of letting go while at the same time holding on to what is precious—the gift of time, a love of people, and especially the gift of having a partner to share the rhythm of the days. He's conscious of change too. Will we return next year? Can we still kayak, walk, swim, get groceries and go to the dump? Can we laugh when we get frustrated and appreciate each other? It is not to be taken for granted.
Every day as I walk the beach, I see changes in the shoreline and the creek's path as it runs off into the sea. I now walk the beach with my walking poles and go for shorter, less frequent swims. My husband carries our elderly dog in and out of the car and walks slowly down the path to the beach. These days we're both slower, and…we keep on going, but…just today, my husband David said that we should look into continuing care in our community. I am not ready to admit frailty. Some changes are easier to accept than others, but…so be it.
As you read this blog, I will be at home and beach days, and choosing freshly caught fish to cook for supper or dripping ice cream cones will not predominate my awareness. Still, I hope to continue loving what is here and, when it is time be able to let it go ...with gratitude for what has been and is now here.