That's Epic!

Theme song: Summertime, performed by Ella Fitzgerald

Friends, for this post I was going to hit you with Bach, Cello Suite No.3, Gigue, and then I ran across this version of Summertime and since it hit me, I've changed my tune. Enjoy Ella and her creamy, dreamy, steamy voice.

About 30 years ago I went to Washington, DC, on a school trip to learn about our nation's government. Maybe you did something similar. Do you remember selling chocolate to raise money for a school trip or two? In this case we each had to raise $300, and while that seems cheap for a cross country trek, hotel, and meals, even today it still seems like a lotta candy bars. You think?

This wasn't my first major trip, but it was one of the first. I'm not sure why, but I have always been a traveler, and flying in an airplane has always excited me. Washington, DC, is of course an interesting place and I was sufficiently, if warily, impressed by visits to Congress, the major monuments, and, especially, the Supreme Court. Even now I love the sound of that phrase, "the supreme court." It sounds so, well, authoritative and impressive.

I was less incapable of disbelief back then . . . . Now it seems the things I believe are written on my skin and sometimes seem to vanish, washed away by unseen forces when I'm not looking. It's disconcerting, yes, in a way similar to how I now have to hold books further away from my eyeballs in order to focus properly. I think it's one of the subtler aspects of what we call "normal aging".

Some things from the trip to Washington, DC, that really captivated me, things that have not as of yet washed away, were these: observing the students from the South with whom we shared housing, the look and feel of the city, and the Buddha I met while I was there (more about him later).

The Southern ladies brought separate suitcases for makeup, wore sexy nightgowns, and, quite uncomfortably, treated the black boy in their group like a cross between a mascot and a personal valet. They were just about as mean and cliquey as you'd expect privileged high school girls to be -- which is to to say just as mean and cliquey as we were. But the flavor was different, and felt dark and edgy to me even at the time.

I had my own secrets, secrets like alcoholism, mental illness, and relatively little family money. These were things that, unlike the color of a black boy's skin, generally cannot be told by looking. Nope, perceiving that level of detail takes a keen mind.

You know what I always say: The keener, the meaner (okay, I don't actually ever say that, but I'm saying it now and I like it!).

So. I kept a low profile and forged ahead hoping, mostly with success, to avoid the meanly keen among us.

The second thing that really stood out for me was the color of the winter sun on red brick buildings and the shadows caused by leafless trees. I had never seen anything like that before, nor felt the cold crispness of a real winter.

The third thing not yet washed away is the Buddha I met at the Smithsonian. He was enormous, and actually only a head, but he was something like 2,000 years old and that alone blew my mind. I didn't know you could get close enough to touch anything that was 2,000 years old. I didn't touch his cheek like I wanted to, but I stood right in front of him and stared into his beautiful face. It seemed to vibrate. It seemed to radiate.

This brings me to Yosemite, a radiant place indeed. The Native Americans call(ed) it Ahwahnee (yes, like the hotel). I prefer that name, although I suppose that, in conversation, it would be incomprehensible and pretentious to use, because I find it more beautiful -- and appropriate -- than "Yosemite," a made up name resulting from European American misunderstanding. Still, says Bill, ". . .that which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet."

I visited Ahwahnee (not pretentious and incomprehensible because I just explained it. Right?) this past weekend with my family and a family visiting from Korea (Hi So Yeon!). I wanted them to experience Yosemite before they headed home because, in addition to our oceans, it is one of the finest "things" America has on offer. My head remembered how beautiful Yosemite is, but my soul and my body did not remember the remembering.

As a result, being there was like coming home and finally recognizing the place. The valley embraced me in granite arms which, like the Buddha I saw so many years ago, radiate warmth and grace.

The Buddha I saw was carved 2,000 years ago, but the rock from which he was carved is, like Yosemite, millions of years old, made from stars, thrust from the center of the earth, and formed by epic forces like glaciers.

Can you believe the slow motion miracle that forms our physical world? I think some people call this science, but since science has a subtle way of missing the heart's point, I would say "that which we call a miracle/By any other name is just as great."

In Yosemite, beauty simply enfolds you. It is dark at night. You can hear the sound of rivers and waterfalls. The full moon makes the rocks glow.

When I check in with you again, 30 years from now, maybe I will have added two more things written on skin, not yet washed away.

The first will be a reflection of one of Yosemite's ephemeral waterfalls and granite face, in a little pond situated in a big meadow. The moon was so bright, and the doubled up detail so fine, it was like scrutinizing infinity. My heart could find no end in the reflection.

The second thing I will tell you concerns that same waterfall. We walked the short distance to the base of the falls and looked up at a cascade of boulders leading up to a powerful rush of water. The boys started climbing, and I started climbing after them. They started going faster and faster, and my littler boy wanted to follow them but was having trouble keeping up. On my own, I might have given up, thinking that, after all, I am a middle aged lady, how can I climb up a waterfall wearing ballet flats?

There was no time to answer. The chase was on! I started scrambling up and over those rocks, jumping across pools of water, sometimes helping my little boy, sometimes being helped by him, until we reached the highest safely reachable stone outcrop. I made him lie on his belly because, you see, the thought of him falling was a terror to me.

We looked over the valley at the trees, the sky, granite faces, felt the kiss of spray from our waterfall, and triumphed in having reached the top.

Oh! I felt like I was flying. I felt so free, connected, and full of love.

Your Turn

What connects you?