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Sharing About Giving: Sparks of the Divine

Full Moon Day last week

On the brilliant bright blue of midday of the Full Moon, I was drawn to walk Wonderland Trail. It was a Super Moon which means the moon was very close to the Earth, and it's magnetic pull stronger than usual. Meaning there would be super high tides.

Synchronicity had it that I arrived at the end of the trail at the peak of the high tide, with calm ocean swells sloshing up onto the pink granite slabs, close to the boulder where I often sit. I sat on another one of those rounded soft boulders, further back, close to the pathway.

There I reveled in the sound of the water gurgling through crevasses, waves gently splashing, washing in and out, and of the view of the near and far islands. The deep dark blue of the ocean.

After a while I wandered around the loop of the trail to the other side of the small peninsula, and then turned off down a short narrow pathway to the lagoon, and a view to Great Cranberry Island.

Since I had just had cataract surgery the world has become miraculously bright. Even the water in the sink while I'm washing dishes looks like a miracle to me. So here, at the lagoon, no open ocean waves, I was captivated by the water lapping over the scores of dark gray snail shells, and flowing though a curve in the rocks, like the chamber of a conch shell, into a shallow pool .

Not a soul was in site for the entire time, and so I decided it would be okay to pee right there, in the coarse sand next to the browning reeds and grasses. Fir trees lining the path meant my chosen spot was hidden from the main pathway. As soon as I was finished and had pulled up my pants, an old man appeared from around the bend, picking his way over the rocks that line the shore. I was grateful for God's timing.

The loop of the pathway continues through a deep and shadowy forest of firs. There you can feel the tree beings nodding and the fairy folk peeking out from behind slender black tree trunks.

Then the walkway opens onto the wild rose bushes, laden with rose hips and a few roses still clinging to the branches. I put a couple of petals behind my ears, under my woolen hat.


A land not mine, still
forever memorable,
the waters of its ocean
chill and fresh...
I cannot tell if the day
is ending, or the world, or if
the secret of secrets is inside me again.

--Anna Akhmativa
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