I stayed on the island on Gabro Lake last night. Sleep did come easy. Nor stayed long. My inflatable pillow is quite possibly the noisiest device in all of creation. I wonder if the nearest campers a half-mile off can hear me turn from side to back to side to belly. Nothing fit last night. As frustrating as it is to not sleep well, tiredness is not something I’ve felt here. Nor hunger much. There is something else here that feeds body and soul. Today I had two cups of coffee and I tried my hand at making bannock bread. I ate two small bannock patties and the squirrel stole the other two. Serves him right.
Fishing has been no good. Not even a bite today. I am not alone in this. Other canoeists complain that fishing is slow. I ask what slow means. Nothing, they say. Today was cleaning day. Washing day, rather. I fetched enough water to fill two pots. Then I stripped and began washing my body. I had worn the same clothes for four days now and apologized profusely as I peeled them off for what they had to endure. They have been giving me the silent treatment ever since. It has been windy today. 55 degrees on the windward side—which I am assuming is the opposite of the leeward side—which I assume is the side where the wind is not blowing—which was 80 degrees.
The day has been mostly cloudy which did make it cooler and also made it impossible to tell time. I’m pretty sure it is evening now. The light is dimming. I don’t know if we will get the evening calm with it overcast as such.
I just noticed the neighboring campsite has lit their fire. Evening it is.
I wonder if I should do to the other side of the island and light a fire to signal the next campsite. Together we will defeat the Ice King.
I read and finished The Voyage of the Dawn Treader today. It has been a wonderful companion on this journey of a trip I’m on. It has also, in absence of a prayer book, been a doorway to God’s presence. I am evermore convinced the imagination is the realm of faith.
A few things from my time of prayer and attention: 1) “I am with you”, 2) Be child-like, 3) Stir up adventure.
Also, I’m curious about the connection between solitude and regaining a sense of child likeness. Here, Dawn Treader has been helpful. There is the image of Aslan peeling off the dragon skin from Eustice.
I think solitude causes you to face fears, to see the need to shed them, and float your canoe through them.
There is a dismantling. A peeling.
/// Ducks fly very quietly in the evening. I am here. I am alive. I will start a fire tonight. There. The fire is lit and is hot.
/// Fear is a funny thing. I’m always afraid someone is or will be rushing me from behind to “get me”. I feel it now. I always have the urge to turn and check it out the dark shadows. But I checked it out at daytime and there was nothing sinister; no human, no beast, no phantom. Just my heart. My fickle heart, so quick to melt like candle way. I am here. I am alive.
/// The clouds have cleared a little on the horizon showing the pink lace of the sunset.
/// Fire is instant courage. I’m planning on leaving tomorrow. I’ll stay over somewhere depending on what time I get out.
/// Music has been my companion here. In my head, of course, sometimes sung out. I know how the Gospel has been presented to humans. But how is it presented to Creation? There is something that sticks with me about St. Francis. There is a stirring in me about it. Remember the dream? Alpine meadow? Singing a song? Raising the dawn? Old Creation shimmering into a new one? Remember that dream.
/// There is comfort in moonlight.