There’s something about healing water that puts everything into perspective.
Our drive to Franklin, NC was beautiful. We slept in the back of the Rav4 at a rest stop in Virginia, and arrived at Sue and Bud’s house in the early afternoon. On Bud’s suggestion, we left the dogs at their house and went to the Humane Society to surprise Sue.
She was surprised.
Let’s talk about this wonderful woman for a minute. She was a passenger on my last trip of the season in 2011. We shared stories over the two and a half hours we spent together in a bus, raft, and nature. By the end of the trip, they’d taken amazing photos of eagles, were thoroughly soaked, we’d exchanged information, and she’d invited me to visit her and Bud in North Carolina.
I told her not to joke, because I usually come through when people invite me.
She assured me it was not a joke.
She described the cabin to me in an email:
The cabin sits on the creek and you walk down to the lake from there. It has every modern convenience except satellite TV, lots of movies to choose
from if you need to do that. There is a sweet little screened porch
that sits on the creek and is lovely in the evenings, it’s away from
the road and noise and quite a nice place. It’s about 25 minutes over the
mountain from town to the cabin. There are kayaks, a canoe, fishing
gear and a beautiful long deadend road to walk by the lake. A friend
has a pontoon boat tied at the dock and it’s nice to sit there and
read or just watch the ducks and kingfishers. We would probably like
to have a get together with neighbors to introduce them to you on the
weekend if it works out.
So, after we surprised her and shared a few short stories and long hugs we followed them out to the cabin.
The road winded up and up. The pavement was speckled with shadows and light, as the sun shone down along the way. John and I marveled at the simplicity and complexity of some of the homesteads along the way.
Gardens, tools, projects, relaxing fire pits. They were amazing!
When we arrived, our jaws went slack while our lips curled into smiles of disbelief.
What a cabin! The construction wasn’t the selling point. As a matter of fact, the structure was slightly leaning towards the magnificent creek that roared right next to it. There was a swing facing the water with which I immediately fell in love and a perfect little room with large windows facing the water to allow the water’s peaceful gurgling message to ease into the cabin:
Everything will change, but it will always remain beautiful.
You never step into the same water twice. It is a constant change; constant movement. If you listen carefully, you can hear clearly that life will be the same way: changing and moving always.
After Sue and Bud left us at the cabin and returned to town, I sat in that room with a notebook, pen, and a book and meditated. I simply allowed the sound of the healing water, so free to move constantly, to permeate my system, my thoughts, my being. I let the remaining stresses flow from my body and mind, a current of energy released to and embraced the present silence within.
I allowed the circle to be connected, and the power of the moment nearly overwhelmed me.
Water has been my saving grace since I returned from Aghanistan.
I lived in a cabin in Haines, Alaska with no cell phone reception, no internet, no electricity, and no plumbing for three springs, summers, and falls while healing from the realities of war. John and I lived there together this past summer; living, laughing, and loving with bears, eagles, and salmon right beyond our front door. The cabin was leaning to one side and had slipped into the ocean twice in its history as the resident floating house. I watched nature from the porch of that structure in silence for countless hours over the years.
John and I left that cabin to begin a new chapter at the end of the 2012 season. We planned a peddle from TX to Chile, but when my father killed himself that all changed.
Being away from that type of beautiful solitude, healing water, and the solace of nature this spring and summer in Pennsylvania was…to say it lightly…a BIG FUCKING CHALLENGE.
Yet, there I was with the love of my life, staying in yet another cabin that is leaning towards the water, this time in NC, after having come out the other side of an intense battle with rat lungworm disease that I contracted from a slug I ate while filming the show 72 Hours in Fiji. Listening to the sweet whisper of waters past, present, and future I’ve learned to embrace the changes that have already come and will be coming.
I finished meditating, and opened my eyes slowly to find John watching me silently from the doorway with a slight grin on his lips, love in his gaze, and two plates of food in his hands.
I love that man.
He sat down next to me and together we allowed the sound of the creek to embrace us and tease our senses. A kingfisher flew by chattering loudly, and we marveled at it’s grace, speed, and size.
We went to sleep early that night in the room closest to the creek.
With our worlds and thoughts soothed by the rushing water, the fluid that unaffectedly follows the path the Universe and Earth dictates, we slept soundly for ELEVEN HOURS (Longer than we have since before the parasite). We breathed steadily in each other’s arms through the night while being reminded subliminally to allow the Universe to dictate our paths and like the drops of healing water that hurried by us through the night, offer no resistance against what feels right.
Tomorrow’s not guaranteed, so live, laugh, love, and dance in the rain!