Rest alone is not always enough of what we need to recover from the challenges life throws at us. Sometimes we need more, something richer, something deeper, something that helps us rediscover who we are, a place to go for repairs to damages hidden inside. As life catches up with us, we look for a special moment to help us along, something subtlety powerful to carry us a bit further down the path toward recovery. Anxious moments, uncertainty, bruised emotions, sometimes a claustrophobic feeling of being trapped with few escape options can weigh like a fearsome burden on a mind and body and cause us to withdraw dwindling emotional funds from our inner bank.
No one is immune from such things. As sleep resisted me and simple resting fell well short of what was required to remove the ghostly fatigue that hovered over me, my soul cried for something more, so...I went fishing.
The late September day proved unseasonably warm with mid-day Indian Summer temperatures hovering near 90 degrees. The first hints of fall tossed out their clues of what will come with a splash of color here and there. A cobalt blue sky spread its wrap above the landscape and a few summer clouds suspended themselves like patches of white sewn onto the outside of a new blue dress. I slipped into the parking area just off the road...no other vehicles, good, I was alone, with no camera, just my small collection of spinners, fishing rod, and the musical waters of Trammel Creek.
At first I just stood next to the waters edge taking in the clean air and listening to the song of the creek. The first step I made into the cold waters quickly filled my old tenny's and sent a chill through me but it was a refreshing reprisal from the warmth of the day. Flowing clear and clean around my legs the current spun and rolled its way down stream in its perpetual motion, twisting and swirling, seemingly happy with its purpose in life as it flowed around obstacles. I wished I could as easily flow around obstacles. As the first cast was signaled by the whirl of the fishing line and a gentle plop of the lure next to a stretch of deeper water, I sighed in relief asking myself where the summer had gone.
Moving here and then there, casting across and through the waters I lost myself amongst the luxury of fishing, not caring if, not even anticipating the strike of a trout. I was simply being there away from everything else, at least for a while. It was a fine and pleasant moment, almost dream like, listening to the lively song of the waters as they careened and cheered, before tumbling over the shallows with a sparkle of reflected light to fill the deeper pools in a choreographed chaos.
Time easily loses itself like a drifting fog around musical waters, and so it was on this day. With dozens of casts tossed into slow moving pools or across faster moving swirls, time indeed seemed insignificant and a full hour passed with barely a notice. During a long wade down stream to that 'other fishy spot', I saw them, the trout, swimming lazily in their blissful home pools, yet they seemed unaware of and certainly less interested in what I offered to them as bait. Didn't matter...just knowing they were there was reward enough.
Eventually, I returned upstream and found a small grassy clump where I could sit in the cool of a shade. Ten yards to either side of me flowed a crystal clear set of riffles keeping time with the sounds of the day. Overhead a majestic hawk surveyed the fields, banking and gliding with little or no effort. With barely a flap he caught a rising air current and soared up and over the ridge dominating the western edge of the creek, and was gone. Down stream there was a chatter, a blur of movement, then a splash. I turned to see ole Mr. Kingfisher launch himself back into the air, this time carrying a meal in his beak.
The fishing was slow, so as I sat in the shade, I lowered the rod and simply listened to the natural quiet. Sometimes we need quiet in our day as a counter balance to all the cluttering noise that infiltrates our lives. Sometimes quiet is uncomfortable, at first, because our usual daily thoughts and actions tend to become inflamed by all the rhetoric and nonsensical kinds of noise we allow to distract us, so much so to where quietness seems foreign. All that noise and clutter causes us to deplete the value of who we are and we often find outselves poor of spirit and even poor of hope as a result. Yet, quiet is what we need more often than we allow for ourselves. How easily we forget.
Quiet and stillness is a powerful healer of the sorrowful anxieties that draw us ever closer to the edge of depression. We resist such things, being drawn into emotional states that hold us down, even so, on this day, I gladly allowed my thoughts to find comfort from the song played by the musical waters of this little dancing brook. In the process I became a musical waters millionaire, refreshed, ready to rejoin the world again, at least for a while.
Like the old Jeep, I still need a few more repairs, yet, the more-than-rest I searched for spoke clearly to me on this day when the fishing was slow, because as I have previously discovered and what was once again made abundantly clear...musical waters offer so much more...than catching fish.
