“The key is on the table! Just go!”
Something, or someone, is yelling at me. I can’t hear them. It’s as if they’re behind one of those police mirrors watching me try to escape that tiny, poorly-lit, soundproofed room.
Still, I sense something so I turn. I put my hand against the cool silvery surface, and look into my own eyes. For a second something familiar passes through me and runs up my spine. It’s the answer to my quest. But just as quickly, the energy passes, and with a shrug I go back to my search.
For seekers like myself, we fear the same thing: There is no quest. There are no secrets to be revealed. Life is what it is, and you’re wasting it asking questions for no reason.
I rage against that logic for fear it will drag me down. I battle it with weapons like intuition, meditation, and prayer. I ask questions. I look closely. I think deeply. I listen to every word, every nuance you say.
And sometimes, I act.
“In need of adventure. Saw tracks on the pond on the way to day care. Gonna try and skate around it. Not to worry I’ll stick close to the shore.”
I hit send and try to imagine my wife’s reaction. If we were face to face she would squint and look out the nearest window. Her muscles would tense and she would take a few seconds to respond. She’d throw out some sort of nonchalant response like, “Cool. The ice is probably thick enough,” which would translate to, ” Oh my God, you’re going to die an icy watery death.”
Luckily, through the power of technology, by the time she replies “Ok,” I am already laced up, and on the pond.
I take the first few strides wondering if the ice is indeed thick enough. The pond groans and stretches, and a crack races out from the tip of my right skate.
A smile creeps over my face. It isn’t my first time on thin ice.
The cold shreds through my flannel, and tears form at the corners of my eyes. My feet cramp painfully and my back is exhausted from my poor form.
I’m alone on the pond on a cloudy winter day. Logs thrust up through the ice, and trees bend low, their branches trapped by the frozen surface. Grass and algae suspend motionlessly beneath me, waiting patiently for the thaw. Groans, cracks, the scrape of my skates, and my breath are the only sounds I hear.
I stop to take a picture of a floating stone. I see its brother a few yards further. Who threw them? Some timid soul wanting to check the thickness? Some vandal trying to break the near perfect surface? Either way I thank them. It makes for a cool picture.
I stop to take a close up of the ice. Rows of tiny bubbles hang there in the thickness and it fascinates me. I try to wrap my head around this process. Can anyone ever say they watched an air bubble become trapped in ice? My imagination wanders, but my feet tell me it’s time to turn around.
I wasn’t out long, and there are certainly more, and greater adventures out there, but this one captured a piece of my heart. There’s something about the cold that helps define me.
Cold grey days are easy to dismiss.
Sometimes you have to seek to find beauty.
Owner Spowerks LLC