Equinox Musings

Yesterday I had an evening meeting in Jackson (Montana). It's not so far as the crow flies - but instead the road meanders along the Big Hole River and around the Pioneer Mountains. If all goes well (as it always does) it takes just over 1.5 hours to get there. The 'traffic' I might encounter is generally a rancher moving a herd of cattle across the highway from one grazing field to another and might increase my drive by half an hour or so. It's a soothing ride and a wonderful opportunity to allow my mind to wander from topic to topic spurred by the landscapes that I pass through.

It's usually dark by the time I go home, so rather than return along the meandering road, I continue on toward Dillon and then head back up the highway - home to Butte. Last night, halfway between Jackson and Dillon, I stopped the car, turned off the lights, and turned my gaze upward. The stars spilled across the sky and filled it to the brim - and I was filled with awe and a sense of grace.

We've been talking about the sublime in my rhetoric class. And the (to me) obscene question of whether advertising can evoke the sublime was raised. No, says Emma, it cannot. It cannot be created opportunistically by another - it is a deeply personal moment, like last night, that takes you unawares and never leaves you. That sky, unexpected in its richness and fullness, will never leave me.

There have been other moments sublime - some inspired by my experiences in the natural world - some evoked in simple experiences with others.

The experiences yesterday of my sauntering drive along the river, the meeting of people with different perspectives who are able to listen respectfully with one another, and my star-filled drive home was important to me. I had, recently, lost my balance - my equilibrium - and began careening off-course. In fact, I could barely remember the course I had chosen beause I allowed my days to become filled with too many tasks and responsibilities and too little joy or laughter.

Sometimes a gentle reminder will be enough to adjust my course back toward myself. Sometimes I have to come up against something harder. Like a visit to the emergency room a week or so back, alone and frightened. Like a request to edit an article that had been written about me back in the spring - an article written about a me who was filled with hope and courage.

So the pendulum swings for each of us in our own personal ways. The sun swims east to west on her daily journey and shifts from north to south and back again as season follows season. We also move into our own west, shifting back and forth as we adjust our course after each experience pushes us one way or another.

I am grateful that I have the insight to be aware of when I am off-course and I am grateful that I have the courage to make the necessary changes rather than continuing walking down the wrong road.

And as I write, Bruce Cockburn sings out:

One day I walk in flowers
One day I walk on stones
Today I walk in hours
One day I shall be home