IMMISCIBLE EVIDENCE – Wonders of the Air/Water Interface

Two elements: air and water. At first glance, they seem about as different as they could be. They’re entirely different states of matter, after all. Even so, consider the surprising number of similarities:

     • They’re both classical elements—those believed by ancient Greek, Indian and 
        other cultures to constitute all matter in the universe.

PHOTO: CK-12.org

     • Neither has a fixed shape.
     • Both flow.
     • Both are subject to gravity.* 
     • Each is rendered visible just by the stuff 
        it carries, and by certain kinds of light.
     • Both are vital for life.
     • Each infuses the other.** 
     • Both suffocate denizens of the other.
     • Both refract light.***
     • Both acquire new properties when heat-
        ed or cooled—including changing state.****
     • Each, unless contained, spreads to fill whatever space gravity compels it to.
     • Both are harmed by abuse from the only creature capable of destroying them.   
          The fascination comes down 
          to part science, part magic.

So…if water and air are so similar, why is the interface between them—think the surfaces of lakes, streams or oceans, of raindrops, of the glass of water on my desk—so complex, so fascinating?

A decent answer would require volumes. But, at least to this inexpert witness to wonder, it comes down to part science, part magic. 

ILLUSTRATION: ConceptVis.app

THE SCIENCE
The first and perhaps most obvious impact of this air/water junction is their interaction’s generation of weather and climate. You know, evaporation, conden-
sation, precipitation…and repeat. But there’s more 
than that going on.

Turns out the water cycle melds with a carbon cycle, which finds carbon dioxide at the water surface—defined as a one- to two-nanometer membrane—transforming into bicarbonate and carbonate ions. †

GRAPHIC: Journal of Physical Chemistry

Atmospheric scientists have also found that these ion-to-ion interactions become "stickier" near the air-water interface, resulting in proteins unfolding, aggregating, or assembling into significantly different structures. ††

The compendium of scientific findings continues with a list of mind-boggling processes like peptide synthesis, phosphorylation, oligomerization, colloid mobilization, protein unfolding or aggregation †††…I’ll spare you the rest.

     To unlock the mystical properties...it took 
     a ten-year-old with a cane fishing pole.

ILLUSTRATION: Norman Rockwell

THE MAGIC
It took lots of science and technology to discover those arcane properties. To unlock the mystical properties of the air-water interface, though, it 
took a ten-year-old with a cane fishing pole.

I’d throw an angleworm deep into the lake, this hidden, alien world, connected by a thin filament held between my fingers. Then I’d wait. If there was life down there in that cold, dark, liquid place, it eventually sent me a message through the fiber. 
If I was lucky I’d get to meet the sender. ‡

That cryptic contact seemed to me no less otherworldly than receiving a faint message from deep space.

PHOTO: Warner Brothers

     What other substance can…bathe an 
     infant’s head and carve the Grand Canyon?

ICEBERG IN MY COFFEE
As this insight might suggest, when it comes to air and water, I’m partial to water. For one thing, I spent nine months submerged in it just before I was a kid. 

For another, air seems almost too easy to take for granted—except, I suppose, when one’s flying…or suffocating. I mean which wakes you up faster, a cool breeze or a splash of cold H2O? 

I love the capricious relationship water has with other elements. With light, it can bend it like a prism, absorb it like a sponge or reflect it like a mirror. Percolating into soil, water provides the nectar of life for nearly 300,000 species of plants. 

ILLUSTRATION: FreePic

What other substance can both render a Winslow Homer masterpiece and torture a suspected terrorist? Transform itself into the exquisite intricacy of a snowflake and the Titanic mass of an iceberg? Bathe an infant’s head…and carve the Grand Canyon?

PHOTO: FreePic

While I realize the Law of Conservation of Matter holds for all the elements, I’m especially captivated by how it applies to water. For example, the possibility that a molecule of water melted from that iceberg that sank the Titanic might reside, for now, in the coffee I’m sipping.

THICK WATER
As with most of my musings here, digging up answers about the seam between water and air also uncovers more questions:

     • Is a splash caused by something falling into the water the obverse of that 
       caused by something like a fish jumping out? 
     • If water can vanish into thin air, could one say that air—also absorbable by 
       its counterpart vanishes into thick water?
     • Why does water as a mist cool us, while as humidity it makes us feel hotter?
     • When we refer to the surface of a lake, isn’t it just as true to call it the sur-
       face of the air above the lake?
     • Is the only difference between swimming and flying the speed at which you 
       can do it? 

IMAGE: Medium.com

When you let loose your child-like sense of wonder, what do you notice about air, water and their interaction? I and the couple of thousand people who stop by here every day would love to hear your thoughts! Just click on the “comments” link below.

* Because air has mass, it is attracted by Earth's gravity, which gives it weight and creates atmospheric pressure. Gravity keeps the atmosphere from drifting into space and pulls air towards the ground, making it denser at lower altitudes. 
Google AI Overview

** Air absorbs water vapor (humidity) from liquid water (evaporation), with warmer air holding much more, while water absorbs gases like oxygen from the air (dissolving), a process enhanced by surface area and turbulence, both crucial for the water cycle and aquatic life  –  Google AI

*** Air bends (refracts) light just as water does, though generally to a much lesser degree. Both media bend light due to changes in speed caused by density differences, a process called refraction. Air bends light significantly when there are sharp density changes, such as that of hot air above pavement (the cause of mirages). 

**** Air freezes solid, but only at –362 degrees Fahrenheit at standard atmospheric pressure. This, of course, is not possible in our planet’s natural conditions, but it’s commonly seen in scientific and industrial labs. – Google AI

† Jin Qian, Staff Scientist, Chemical Sciences Division, Berkeley Lab.

†† "The Promise and Intrigue of Where Water Meets Air" – Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, 
June 5, 2014

††† “Colloid mobilization and transport in groundwater”
Joseph N. Ryan and Menachen Elimelech – ScienceDirect.com

‡ Over the past few years, the wonder of communicating with fish has tarnished considerably as I’ve realized that those “cryptic” tugs and jumps, which since childhood have felt like fun, are no such thing for the fish. I now believe I have no right to enjoy the pain and terror of another of God’s creatures.

THERE YOU ARE! – Making Eye Contact With Nature

Last week, I started writing a post about the wonders of making eye contact with Nature. Specifically, about a remarkable interaction I’d had with two beavers while I was canoeing a backwater of the beautiful St. Croix River. I’d been struck by their sustained gaze as they swam, as if on a 30-foot tether, in a perfect arc around me.

This evening, while still working on that piece, I took a break and went out to sit on our deck with our sweet little mini-schnauzer, Sylvia…and a margarita. And over the next twenty minutes, a little drama played out that convinced me those beavers could no longer be my lead. 

             It’s hard to discern emotion in 
             eyes half the size of apple seeds.

PHOTO: Wikimedia Commons

GOT NECTAR?
This whole summer, Sally and I have seen very little of our ruby-throated hummingbirds. In fact, we’d thought there was just one—a female. But then, just a few weeks ago, a tiny newcomer shows up at the feeder. (We still haven’t seen Papa.) And, sadly, whenever either Sally or I have been out there on the deck both mom and baby have made themselves scarce.

As the inevitable day of their migration south approaches, we’re treasuring every sighting of these precious little beings, albeit through the window.

So, here I am, sitting on the deck. I’ve cranked open our big red umbrella, Sylvie’s lying in my lap, and a little chill music is playing. We’re right behind the curtain of purple petunias and white bacopa trailing from our railing boxes. Just on the other side, where I can’t see it, is our hummingbird feeder—filled with nectar I refreshed just this morning.

All of a sudden I catch that inimitable flitting-then-hovering hummer motion out of the corner of my eye. One must have landed at the feeder. 

Then, suddenly, just between the balusters of the deck railing, no more than three feet from us, here’s the mama, hovering, looking right at us. She’s so close I can hear her hum.

PHOTO: alandrapal / The Lens Flare

First, she suspends in front of Sylvie’s nose for a few seconds; then she flits up to my level and stares right into my eyes. Then, as if that weren’t enchanting enough, the baby appears and, while mom backs off, does the same.

It’s hard to discern intent or emotion in eyes half the size of apple seeds, but I believe it’s there. Maybe it’s gratitude—like “Hey, thanks for the yummy sugar water”—but you know, I’ll settle for curiosity just slightly eclipsing caution. In any case, I’m absolutely smitten.

       I’m locked eye-to-eye with a 40-ton whale!

A FLUKE OF NATURE?
Moving from one end of the critter-size spectrum to the other, I’ve had this very same transcendent experience with a whale. (An adult female gray whale weighs roughly 12,000,000 times more than that hummingbird that locked eyes with me on the deck.)

Sally and I had sailed from San Diego down the Pacific coast toward Cabo San Lucas and the Sea of Cortez aboard the 95-foot natural history cruise boat, the Searcher. Along the way, we stopped to spend a couple of days in Laguna San Ignacio, where scores of Pacific gray whale cows tend and teach their calves for a while each spring. 

There, in the wild, of their own accord—and for no tangible reward—50-foot Pacific gray whale cows swim under their 15- to 20-foot calves, gently lifting and nudging them toward our little ten-person rowboats and our outstretched hands. The babies seem to love the attention, gently bumping the boat and even opening their mouths so we can scratch their baleen (the keratin filters they use to strain krill and other food from the water).

After presenting her calf to me, one mama whale backs off a few yards where she raises her head out of the water and watches me warily. That’s right, I’m locked eye-to-eye with a 40-ton whale!

I remember so vividly the enormity, the depth…the magic of that experience. And hoping that whatever that whale saw in my eyes reciprocated the respect and trust I was reading in hers.

           Do wild animals immediately spot 
           these two tiny blue orbs in my face?

SEEING GENEROUSLY

Between those two extremes of animal size, I’ve had numerous other close encounters with the eyes of wild creatures: eagles, deer, coyotes, muskrats, herons, and even fish. Just this week, it was those beavers circling my canoe, their eyes fixed on mine.

What’s going through animals’ heads as they lock stares with me? Do they recognize me as another animal? And how do they know? Is it the eyes? Do wild animals immediately spot these two tiny blue orbs in my face? Can they read other creatures’ eyes anywhere near as well as domestic dogs have learned to read ours? 

I wonder if these and other critters might exemplify a concept I’ve often written about in these pages: seeing generously. The beneficence would be my eyes conveying peace, understanding, perhaps some form of love. Then, if that vibe somehow allows an animal to experience those same sensibilities, that means the gift’s been received. 

Might this explain why these creatures I commune with don’t see me as a threat?

ILLUSTRATION: Thomas Wolter, Pixabay

IS IT SPIRITUAL?
Our eyes—human eyes—have been celebrated in literature and film as windows to our souls. Perhaps wild animals, too, know how to look into that window. After all, we know they possess sensory faculties we humans—at least those of us no longer living in the wild—have long ago lost to evolution.

Whatever that reading, do you think it’s based on merely an exchange of information, or might there be more to the transaction? Might my connection with these, my fellow creatures, exceed the reach of the conventional senses and border on the spiritual? 

I think it does, and it’s rare indeed. 

It’s only when both the critter and the human decide—or, perhaps more accurately, allow themselves—to see the other’s aura that the magical connection is made. Today that happened for me with those little hummingbirds.

What they see in my eyes—I hope—most certainly is a kind of love.

OR IS IT LOVE?
One of the high points of any day for me is sustained eye contact with our dog. Sweet little Sylvia nestles in the furrow between my left thigh and the arm of my Lazy Boy. Once in a while she’ll turn her head up toward me and just stare into my eyes. It’s magical. 

Of course, I can’t tell you exactly what Sylvie sees in my eyes, but I know what I see in hers. She shows me a range of emotions: fear, excitement, shame. But the expression that touches my heart most profoundly is hard to describe. I guess it’s just pure, sweet love. 

With my inter-species encounters in Nature, I can’t say I read such love in the eyes of wild animals. That's as it should be, I suppose. I do see caution, naturally. And curiosity. Occasionally playfulness. But what they see in my eyes—at least I hope—most certainly is a kind of love. 

SEEING THE BEING
I’ve experienced the enchantment of eye contact with many creatures. In fact, I occasionally offer the same gift of seeing generously to other, inanimate faces of Nature, like trees…or even still-more-inscrutable ones like rocks and clouds. 

It’s not that I pretend these faces have eyes, but I do believe they have being. And the fact that we share that condition makes us kin. Makes them, I believe, worthy of my seeing.

How do you experience the wonder of eye contact with Nature? Is there one animal, one occasion in which you've felt the most profound connection? Do you see even inanimate elements of Nature with that same generosity of spirit? We’d love to hear about it in the comments!

BALKING THE WALK – How I’ve Let My Devotion to Nature Get "Screened" Out

I write about Nature all the time—about its countless wonders, small and large; its wise counsel in ways of patience and knowing; and its many coincidences with my brand of spirituality. I promote closer connections with Nature for everyone, especially children.

But I’m a hypocrite.

I actually don’t spend as much time outdoors as it may seem. Too often, I fall victim to the very temptation I urge others to resist: the lazy cosmopolitanism, the false presence, afforded by digital technology’s instant “connections” with people, places and information.

It started, I’m afraid, with the publication of my first book, Under the Wild Ginger; my publisher told me I had to put myself out there and promote, if not actual sales, at least a point of view that would attract like-minded readers.

              Cyberspace is a wily seductress.

But cyberspace is a wily seductress. At first the allure was something like the one I felt as a boy when, no longer fooled by that old tin-cans-and-string ruse, my fondest wish was for a real walkie- talkie. Or later when I’d spend hours with my ear pressed against the speaker of our tabletop Emerson radio, fine-tuning among the stronger signals and static for distant stations. This communicating beyond the range of my own, unelaborated ear and voice struck me as nothing short of mystical.

ILLUSTRATION: Quint Buchholz

There’s a certain boundless freedom in sending and receiving messages over untold expanses, across geographic, political and cultural boundaries. The same kind I experience during my favorite, recurring dream: being able to fly. It feels like the very essence of spiritual connection, a magical oneness with time and space and all of creation—not to mention its striking awe and envy into every onlooker.

CLAIMING MY VISION
Well, blaming the medium for its abuse is a pretty poor excuse. What first brought this line of reflection to mind for me was my wife’s and my annual sojourn in a lovely seaside town in Guerrero Mexico. Last March, the nice little TV in our villa never once blinked on.

Sure, we spent some time on our devices most days, doing some necessary work, keeping in touch with loved ones, sharing a few photos. But those times were quite limited. And, even when our minds may have been in cyberspace, physically we were still in direct contact with Nature during all our waking hours.

Even inside our villa, where there’s no wall separating us from the view over Zihuatanejo bay, delicious warm breezes waft in day and night, carrying the sounds and smells of the neighborhood and the Pacific Ocean beyond. Critters—ants, butterflies, geckos, bats and the occasional tarantula—become our constant companions. And our relationships with our Mexican friends seldom abide the quick phone call, email, or—God forbid—text. No, more folks there take the time to come calling, to spend a few minutes exchanging pleasantries and just being…well...nice.

         It’s not really the physical walls that are 
         holding me back. It’s the virtual ones.

How quickly such wonders soak into one’s skin; by the end of our stay, we were already taking this sustained communion with Nature, including these unhurried visits with people, for granted. But now, with the singular clarity of hindsight, I know why this annual month in the tropics is so restorative in so many ways.

It’s exactly what I’ve been letting slip away, bit by bit, in my life here in the “real” world: the close presence of Nature in my life every day. Paying attention, not just to a little screen, but to the countless small wonders playing out around me in real time and real space.

Now, I realize it might prove impractical here in Minnesota to remove one side of our urban townhouse and let in the air, light (and mosquitos). And winter…well, come on, this is Minnesota! But I’m thinking it’s not really the physical walls that are holding me back. It’s the virtual ones. I’ve been allowing others—content developers, marketers, fellow screen addicts…whomever—to limit what I can experience, to steer the direction and extent of my vision.

This is not what I want. Is it what you want? Don’t we have our own vision, an outlook which belongs to no one but us? Shouldn’t we be the ones deciding what will surprise and delight us, who will become our next good friend, and, in the thick of this surreal presidential election, what and whom we should fear?

       I must make time for the cure before I 
       can recover the time spent on the disease.

SEEING GENEROUSLY
Now that summer’s just beginning to yield to fall, I aim to reclaim my birthright—the birthright of every human being—my connection, my belonging, to Nature. And the way to start is to, as I like to put it, get off the screen and into the scene. Like surmounting any bad habit, this will require being thoughtful and deliberate, more disciplined in how I spend my time.

What makes it hard is that I must make time for the cure before I can recover the time spent on the disease. For example, if I’m to take a walk every morning, I’ll have to let go of the time I’m wasting on television or the Internet the night before. Or I may have to re-prioritize the short list of friends I correspond with most often, adding Nature to that inner circle.

And I most certainly will have to change my point of view. I must learn to use all my senses, not just taking in the wisdom and beauty of Nature, but giving something to the transaction too. I call it seeing generously.  It’s a mindset in which we stop trying to impose our will and way on Nature and life, instead vesting in them the power to have their way with us.

That is what we do in Mexico when we stop during our daily walks and cool off in accustomed shady spots. It is what I do when I remember to let life astound me—from those little “floaters” that punctuate my vision from the inside, to whatever horizon the weather defines that day, to the stars on a clear night, to the still-further reach of my imagination.

It is what we all must do if we want to reclaim the sacred bond with Nature that originates deep in our bones and so yearns to be honored once again.

THE JOY OF BLOGGING – A Virtual Person of the World

PART II (To return to part I, click HERE.)

ILLUSTRATION: Carol Aust - carolaust.com

CREATURES OF HABIT
Several friends and family members have asked me about how to get started blogging. Of course, I’m happy to share what little knowledge and experience I have. After all, I ask them, what have you got to lose? At worst, you’ll spend countless hours writing and posting for your own and perhaps a few other sets of eyes. At best, you’ll become the next Life Hacker or Mashable, get absurdly rich and never leave your computer chair again.

Start with what you know best. Perhaps it’s stuff related to your nine-to-five, but which isn’t fully appreciated by your boss. Maybe it’s some hair-brained theory you can’t get folks to listen to. Or maybe, as in my case, it’s just a series of unforgettable life experiences strung together on threads of spirituality, philosophy or some other theme. Whatever you know, care deeply for, or just wonder about...that’s your content.

 You produce something heart-felt and interesting 
 on a regular timetable or people will go somewhere 
 else for their blog fix.

A word of advice, though: If you’ve ever been in charge of producing a newsletter, you know that all the best intentions in the world are not enough to save you each week, month or quarter when that merciless deadline approaches. I have, and believe me, that publish-or-perish date seems to sneak up on you faster every issue. You’ve got to produce something heart-felt and interesting on a regular timetable or people will go somewhere else for their blog fix.

How often should you post? If you want your site to attract and retain a following, you must commit to a regular schedule. The frequency will hinge on how much you have to say, how efficient a writer you are, your resourcefulness in wrangling content from yourself and other contributors, and of course how much time you can devote to your writing.

(For the first year or so, I managed a new post every third day. Now, it’s more like once a week—and that seems to be the threshold at which I notice daily readership starting to fall off.) Remember, blog followers, like newspaper readers, radio listeners or podcast fans, are creatures of habit.

PACKAGING THE WORD
Just a word or two about design. Without even reading a word, it’s pretty easy to see who the credible bloggers are and who are the rank amateurs. Not even the most engaging content can hold its own against a poorly organized, unappealing, visually unwelcoming design.

PHOTO: r77designs.com

My goal was to position my One Man’s Wonder as far toward the professional end of that spectrum as I could with the resources at my disposal. As I mentioned, I spent nothing on design (though I am a career graphic designer and know how to make the best of even a limited number of design options). Perhaps you have a friend or two who are conversant in design and would give you some pointers.

Here are half a dozen design and style tips you might consider:

• Strike a balance between verbal and visual content. Use sub-headings, featured quotes, photos and illustration to both support the story and lend visual relief to long blocks of type.
• Limit your paragraphs to three sentences if possible. Even if technically it’s not a new thought, breaking it up like this makes it much easier to follow on a glowing screen.
• Use fonts that are easy to read. Serif fonts are well-known to be easier to follow in blocks of text, while the occasional use of sans-serif type can lend variety for headings and captions. Try not to use more than two different type styles in a single post.

         If you need a bit of encouragement—
         let me know and I’ll be glad to help. 

• Use comfortable language. You don’t want potential readers turned off by too much technical jargon or a stilted tone; they can get their fill of that in an academic textbook. Use connecting words and transitions to let one thought flow easily into the next.
• Avoid garish colors and backgrounds that compete with your text. You’ve probably seen them: blogs where the author’s favorite color gushes from the page, drowning the other content. And that forest green type on a royal blue background? Bad idea! You want as much contrast as possible between text and what it sits on.
• Maintain a consistent look. You wouldn’t wear a disguise when showing up for a second date, right? Well, your readers shouldn’t have to take a second look to recognize your blog either. Not to say you shouldn’t freshen up your face once in a while. Between the occasional make-over, though, keep it familiar with your usual fonts, colors and layout.

And, if you have any questions—or simply need a bit of encouragement—let me know and I’ll be glad to help. We bloggers, I've found, are mostly an open, supportive bunch. Happy blogging!

THE JOY OF BLOGGING – A Virtual Person of the World

PART I  of two parts
 

ILLUSTRATION: kingdesignllc.com

About ten years ago I ran into an old schoolmate who told me how much he
was enjoying blogging. “Great!” I replied, not wanting to reveal my ignorance. Nonetheless, he explained briefly how it worked and that it allowed him an international forum for his best thinking and writing. He said it was easy; I
wasn’t so sure.

But the idea of blogging simmered in the stew of my ambitions. Then, a few years ago, I found myself on the verge of having my first book* published. One of the first questions I knowingly asked my publisher was, “Should I start a blog?” And they agreed that was a great idea.

The strategy, they told me—apparently the rapidly changing indie publishing industry’s new model of how to market a book—was to build, well before our release date, an online following for the kind of content featured in my book, and then pitch the release not just to the nebulous universe of Amazon and Barnes & Noble shoppers, but to my own, pre-vetted, captive audience.

So, a few years back, I started One Man’s Wonder. It was as easy as my friend had said it was; I used Google’s Blogger** platform, which provided me a number of predesigned formats and simple, intuitive tools to customize them to my tastes. And—unbelievably then as now—it was free.

         If it was good, I got comments from 
         readers, making it not just my soapbox, 
         but a lively forum.

The blog, along with my faithful empire-building efforts on Facebook and Twitter, delivered more or less as everyone had hoped. Sure enough, I gained followers who became fans who became buyers of my book. But I also got to connect with kindred spirits who simply share my love of Nature and my appetite for the spiritual nutrients it provides—some of whom were also working on their own books.

A few of these more-famous-than-I new friends, at least partly because of their familiarity with my work through the blog, were kind enough to endorse my book—which has made a huge difference in gaining it interest and credibility.

But One Man’s Wonder’s connection with my book soon became secondary, for blogging came to be a joy in its own right. I got to write about things I ponder all the time and that I love to share. If it was good, I got comments from readers, making it not just my soapbox, but a lively forum. I was grateful, too, for the occasional push-back, which helped me to examine both my thinking and my style.

MYSTICAL MINGLING
It was thrilling to count—in Blogger’s rudimentary analytics feature—the number of visitors I was getting every day, which operating systems and browsers they were using, the keywords they entered to find me, and in which countries they logged in.

I remember those first weeks when I was checking my page views every hour or two, hoping to break double figures for that day. Then, gradually, with the help of my growing followings on Facebook and Twitter, my daily readership grew to the hundreds and, on a good day, the thousands.

Even as I surpass 300,000 all-time page views, I realize these numbers mean little by themselves. Still, it’s been an amazing experience tracking them, watching them grow, and trying to imagine people in, say, China gazing down at the exact same screen view I was seeing—my writing, my photos, my thoughts and feelings.

      Connecting with someone across repressive 
      political or cultural barriers, like fishing 
      for giants in a deep, dark pool, borders on
      the mystical.

But the truest rewards of all have been the wonderful comments I get in person from readers, many of them “lurkers,” followers who never comment online, or who do so anonymously. Ranging from “Oh, I love the photos you share!” to “Such-and-such a post inspired me to get my kids off their little screens and outdoors for some real connection,” this feedback reminds me that my audience is far wider and more interested than the number of comments would suggest.

Visitors to One Man's Wonder have logged on from 85 countries.

Especially fascinating is the international following I seem to have built. At first I was blown away by noticing an occasional page view from Canada, Mexico or somewhere in Europe. But the list has grown, now comprising 85 countries from Argentina to Vietnam.

Connecting with someone on the other side of the world—often across repressive political or cultural barriers—is more than just gratifying; like fishing for the denizens of a deep, dark pool, it borders on the mystical.
(To continue with Part II, click HERE)

* UNDER THE WILD GINGER - A Simple Guide to the Wisdom of Wonder. You can order custom-dedicated, signed copies directly from the author at a special discount for the holidays—just $9.95. Just send Jeff an email: jeff@willius.com

** There are many other free blogging platforms, including WordPress, Typepad, Moveable Type and Tumbler, some of which have far more sophisticated features, but I’ve found Blogger’s intuitive design features—not requiring any knowledge of HTML programming—suit my needs very well.

AMBOSELI – Seeing Beyond Sight

(This is the seventh and last in a series of posts about my recent Kenya safari.)

From the Maasai Mara, we head southeast toward the last of our safari’s major wild game parks and reserves, Amboseli National Park. 

Amboseli, like the Maasai Mara, is situated in the great Rift Valley, just before it spills into Tanzania. It, too, is governed by the local Maasai community. Though only 150 square miles, a fraction of the size of the Mara, it is Kenya’s second-most-popular wild game area.

The park is distinguished by its five major swamps, oases in an otherwise arid savannah landscape. While it claims to be home of the “big five” most-sought species of African wild game, it is best known for its large herds of free-ranging elephants.

PHOTO: Wikimedia Commons

The park is also famous for its proximity to Mt. Kilimanjaro, just over the border in Tanzania. Here, the best—and luckiest—photographers capture those incredible shots of wildlife with the mountain as their backdrop.

Our base for this leg of the trip is the Sentrim Amboseli tented camp, just a few kilometers from the park entrance. As we step from our safari vans and stretch our legs, we're met by the entire staff singing us a cheery welcome song in Maa, the traditional language of the Maasai.

     Even in Eden, life cannot be taken 
     for granted. Here, awareness is a 
     matter of life and death.

ELEPHANTS RULE
During our three game drives in the park, it soon becomes evident that elephants do, indeed, thrive here. They’re everywhere, and not just in the twos and fours we’d been seeing in the other reserves, but in the scores.

Often, we see them wading, knee-deep, in the lush wetlands, where they enjoy the best of all worlds, drinking, cooling off, and grazing on the tall grasses. We smile at the dark “socks” and “pants” they wear after emerging from the water.

Amboseli’s swamps also attract other animals. We’re struck by the variety: zebra, giraffe, wildebeest, rhinoceros, hippopotamus—a glimpse, it seems, of a beautiful, serene, timeless Eden. And yet we’re reminded that, even in Eden, life cannot be taken for granted. Here, awareness is a matter of life and death.

 

And the birds. Spectacular birds of every size and shape and color. I wonder if they're jealous of the animals for all the attention they get.

Go-away Bird

Superb Starling

Hartlaub's Bustard

Crested Crane

SEEING BEYOND SIGHT
Just before setting out on our last morning game drive, I walk by myself down our camp's long dirt path to a viewing platform. There you can take in a broad sweep of acacia-dotted savannah, and, if you’re lucky, Mt. Kilimanjaro in the background. I am not; the storied mountain is hiding today behind distant clouds.

Still, I’m not about to waste the moment, so I turn to other senses to experience the great peak’s presence. I sit down on the weathered bench and let go my need to see.

     I feel close enough to the animals, 
     at times, to have been but barely 
     more predator than prey.

I close my eyes and bask in the delicious interplay of relentless equatorial sun, shreds of merciful shade from a big acacia tree, and a cool, dry breeze. I listen to the cheery banter of weaver sparrows on a branch just above.

Reaching out through that cocoon of visionless sensation, I will my mind’s eye across the miles, through the clouds, all the way to Kilimanjaro. Believing it’s there, imagining its countenance, I let the mountain into my vision even though I can’t see it.

PHOTO: Anna Langova

Here I am, half a world away from home. Not just in Africa, but in the Rift Valley, the very cradle of the human species. At some level, I know this savanna, perhaps somewhere deep in my DNA. I feel my oneness with this place, and with large, wild animals—close enough to them, at times, to have been but barely more predator than prey.

I realize there's not a single man-made sound to be heard. Not a vehicle, an airplane, an air conditioner...not even the subtle background hum and hiss anyone within earshot of a highway must endure. And in that silence, I can hear Kilimanjaro.

     The boy looks up, and, through the
     cloud of dust, meets my wistful gaze.

THE SIMPLEST SONG
As if uneasy with the lull, the gentle breeze wafts a new sound over me. It’s a child’s voice, singing. Singing in the purest, sweetest notes I’ve ever heard, joyously, accompanied only by the crystalline cling—ting-ting of a small bell.

I turn my eyes’ vision back on. There, just across the camp’s perimeter fence, a young Maasai boy, not yet old enough to have earned the full, crimson-and-blue regalia of a warrior, tends—or should I say entertains—his flock of goats as they amble off to a spot of shade for the hottest hours of the day.

At the head of the flock trots a mottled orange-and-white nanny, not much different from the others, except that, under her neck, dangles that little bell.

The boy looks up, and, through the cloud of dust, meets my wistful gaze. He stops singing. I wave, and wish now I’d not seen him. He, like the great mountain, was more beautiful in just his simple song.

CONCENTRIC RINGS – A Lifetime Shared With #4

While out walking this morning, I came to a favorite spot along my usual route. It's a small, unkempt grove of dense woods on an odd parcel of land hemmed in between the Mississippi River Parkway, the Shriner's Hospital and a steep railroad berm. I've always enjoyed the fifty or sixty steps it takes to amble past this little forest remnant, half expecting to look in and see a deer or a wild turkey.

But today, just like that, my little slice of urban Eden is gone, cleared right down to barren ground. And all for who knows what—most likely yet another condo project. Something, perhaps, like not seeing the forest for the fees.

        

How casually we humans trample Nature, squashing life as thoughtlessly as we might step 
on a bug with the audacity to get in our way.

I couldn't help thinking about that community of living things, that extended family, spending—what, certainly many decades—competing for air, sunlight and scarce nutrients, and ultimately finding their symbiotic balance. How casually we humans trample Nature, squashing life as thoughtlessly as we might step on a bug with the audacity to get in our way.

As I surveyed the carnage, I kept being drawn to the stumps, those still-living feet of noble oaks, elms and ash. Just days ago, each had stood proud, each with its own personality, unique for its size, shape and perhaps the number and severity of its battle scars. Today, they're reduced to numbers, branded in gaudy green spray paint.

      

This one—the only one I'd felt compelled to 
stand on—and I had shared almost exactly the 
same lifetime.

I stepped up on number 4 and stood there, imagining myself its missing trunk and branches. I wondered how long this sweet, patient being had stood here…and how long it might have remained, but for the ambitions of a few strangers.

Curious, I knelt down, brushed away the sawdust and elm seeds, and started counting the rings. And that's when my feelings about this one tree suddenly turned from mere empathy to something more.

You see, I'd counted exactly 67 rings, which means this oak was born in 1945—the same year I was. Of all the departed souls from this forest, this one—the only one I'd felt compelled to stand on—and I had shared almost exactly the same lifetime.

PHOTO: Paul Lupo

Tears welled up in my eyes as the mystical power of that thought swirled around me. I tried to imagine the acorn splitting, that single, tender root probing down into warm soil, that gangly shoot reaching straight up to catch sun's gaze…just as I may have been taking my first breath, catching my first glimpse of the light of day.

Could either of us possibly have known, at some metaphysical level, that the other had just arrived too? Had we ever laid eyes on each other? Had my parents ever just happened to drive me past this spot where, just a few feet away, my contemporary was also growing up?

I hoped the "rings" of my life...might be noticed 
by someone, someday.

Now, I know this tree and I never shared the slightest intentional connection, but what I couldn't—and can't—dismiss is the certainty of how much we did share: the same cool, rainy April mornings; the same sweltering July afternoons; the same crisp October breezes; the same hunkering down through all those long Minnesota winters.

Sadly, ironically, I'd just realized all this common ground with a new friend whose life was over. I headed home wistfully, hoping the "rings" of my life—those varying layers of experience and growth I, too, have accumulated—might be noticed by someone, someday, and be considered as right and worthy as I consider those of oak number 4.

I suspect I'll be contemplating those 67 cryptic rings of life for some time.  How many more will grow for me before they must yield to the ambitions of others? How long before, like ripples spreading from a splash, they're absorbed by the vastness of time?

WE'RE ALL MYSTICS

Google "mysticism" and you'll get a whole slew of references to complex belief systems in which the meaning of life and access to its most profound wonders is shrouded in mystery. In fact, the derivation of the word is from the Greek word myelin, meaning to close.

So, right from the start, the whole concept sounds pretty arcane. So is much of the content written about mysticism, which seems always to be couched in religious and/or academic jargon.

It's one thing to try to fathom what they're saying; it's another just to decide which mysticism we're talking about. There's religious mysticism, philosophical mysticism, practical mysticism, mysticism by faith, era, geographic origin...even country. You might think they were all competing to see who can make life's ultimate meaning the most unfathomable.

Most young children I've ever observed have struck me as being, without even trying, pretty successful little mystics.

BORN THAT WAY

So what is mysticism in terms the average person might understand? I like the definition I found at NewAdvent.org, the largest Catholic site on the Web: "...a religious tendency and desire of the human soul towards an intimate union with the Divinity." With the exception, perhaps, of the word "religious," that description doesn't seem all that unapproachable.

One dictionary definition calls mysticism: "a belief in the spiritual apprehension of truths that are beyond the intellect." Again, not such a hard concept to get your mind around, right? After all, aren't these truths—isn't that union with divinity—something just about everyone would like to know?

Don't let the ascetics cow you. Mysticism is a way of connecting with the universe that each and every one of us (at least those of us with the luxury of being able to think of things other than mere day-to-day survival) can experience through nothing more mysterious than a natural capacity we were born with—our sense of wonder. Come to think of it, most young children I've ever observed have struck me as being, without even trying, pretty successful little mystics.

That meaning, far from being elusive and privileged, invites us to share the same space with it every day, everywhere.

NOT ROCKET SCIENCE

Mysticism—at least my kind—is nothing more than believing that Nature and life are laced with profound meaning, and that that meaning, far from being elusive and privileged, invites us to share the same space with it every day, everywhere.

The reason this is mystical isn't that you have to spend your entire life in the Himalayas tracking down some reclusive lama, only to have him tell you the answer lies in the question. It's mystical because, at least for us adults, the mind and the spirit have to grow in order to make room for it.

So what does it tell us that an adult must grow mentally and spiritually to "get" it, while a child already has it? It says that this growth involves not years of learning, searching and sacrifice, but a process of unlearning—unlearning the fears, expectations and cynicism that build up in our lives, layer upon layer, eventually burying the free spirits we were as kids.

One way I've cultivated my own mystic spirituality is by realizing how much it revolves around Nature. By recognizing that connection, knowing that my "Divinity" is the earth and all its life, I find I can easily tap into that innate curiosity and wonder kids experience so effortlessly when they're in Nature.

Spirituality is no more or less complicated than we wish to make it.

COMFORTABLE AS A FAVORITE CHAIR

Everyone has a spiritual side. Sure, it can be mysterious, hard to describe, elusive in practice. But, when all's said and done, spirituality is no more or less complicated than we wish to make it. Some people find their meaning in elaborate ritual, others in solitary prayer; some in simple silence, still others in beating their own backs bloody with chains.

I find my ultimate truth and beauty—my "intimate union with the Divinity"—in Nature. I see and feel it all around me, within me and in others with whose paths mine intersects. These natural wonders, while to some nearly as elusive as any religious truth, do not have to be so.

For me, simply being in the presence of those geologic structures and fellow organisms feels like home, as welcoming as family, as comfortable as a favorite chair. Yet they tap into something timeless, something profoundly enriching and empowering. It's a fusion of all those understandings human beings have always hoped to gain through their spiritual experience—truth, beauty, love, hope, understanding, gratitude and, of course, wonder.

THE HARDER YOU TRY…

How can you practice this kind of no-nonsense mysticism in your life?

First of all, as I've suggested, realizing your capacity to experience the mystical doesn't take anything that every single one of us wasn't born with. You don't have to be an academic or an ascetic to get it. It's not defined or governed by any particular religious construct; you don't have to be a liberal arts graduate or an NPR listener to fit in; there are no slick New Age buzzwords.

No, in my kind of mysticism, all you have to do is show up, pay attention, expect wonder and not be in a hurry to leave.

Notice I said "expect wonder." If there's one part of this people tend to get hung up on it's this. For this is the aspect of faith. By definition, it can't be proven; you have to take a leap. Skeptics will always be poor candidates for mysticism, just as they are for hypnotism. So, if you want to fall into the trance of mystery, wonder and oneness, you must expect it, be willing to recognize it when you see it, and welcome it into your reality.

Instead of searching for wonder, you simply prepare room for it in your heart and spirit…and then it finds you!

Oh, and there's one more little trick, one that can be tough for some people. The very things many of us have been taught all our lives are the secret to success—hard work, efficiency, control, contacts, competition—are what usually stands in the way of reaching that mystical union with the sacred.

In fact, the harder you try to find it, the less likely you are to do so. So, as counter-intuitive as it may seem, instead of searching for wonder, you simply prepare room for it in your heart and spirit…and then it finds you!

BETTER PLACES TO GO

Try it! Make whatever time you can in your day—even if it's only 15 minutes of your lunch hour. Go outdoors and find a place that's fairly quiet and conducive to life—even if that's only your back yard, or under the trees in front of your office building.

Clear your mind of agendas, worries, expectations. In fact, try to turn off your mind. If you can't get rid of the thoughts and emotions, don't worry. Don't fight them; just picture yourself rising above them, observing them kindly, letting them pass as they will. Understand that they are not you. No, in this moment, this tiny slice of your day, you have better, more important places to go.

You must expect it, be willing to recognize it when you see it, and welcome it into your reality.

Once you do this, you'll find your senses will automatically open up; you'll experience things happening all around you that you may never have noticed or appreciated before. You may experience feelings you never knew you had—the sense that limitations are dissolving, or that everything that ever happened or is yet to happen is exactly as it should be. You might even get your first inklings of your connection with all of creation—not just with things that move and breathe, but with trees, rocks and sky.

So what do you say? Are you ready to dig out and reclaim your native mysticism? You can do this!! And please, won't you share your experience with the rest of us?

(For more on this subject, see my 4/5/11 post, DEMYSTIFYING MYSTICISM – The Down & Dirty Road to Higher Consciousness here.)