Yesterday was an absolutely gorgeous Maine summer day – low humidity, slight breeze, deep blue, cloudless sky. Not long after sunup, I put my kayak on the car, drove to Kettle Cove and kayaked around Richmond Island, a particularly beautiful island not far from where I live.
As I rounded one end of the island and faced into the open ocean, the wind picked up slightly. To my left shaded cliffs and spruce woods behind rose up dark against the sky. Then a meadow golden in the early-morning light. I paddled into the rising sun. Diamonds of light sparkled on the water all around me. Waves breaking on the rocks and the sound of my paddling were the only sounds I heard.
I was overwhelmed by the beauty and the preciousness of it all. I felt deeply grateful to be where I was and felt like crying.
Was I sad? That’s what I thought on the drive home, when I reflected on the experience. The standard view: When you feel like crying, it’s because you’re sad. But I don’t think I was. I think that the beauty of ocean, island, solitude and sky touched me deeply and opened my heart. The desire to cry was just what followed.
I am not moved this deeply by my experience often. What if, in this world of seemingly permanent conflict and cruelty, my heart closed permanently – and I was never moved to tears again? What can it be like for people who have permanently shut their hearts and turned away from the world?
Comments