Yesterday I went on a little fishing trip around Alice Lake, just north of Squamish, BC. Spoiler alert, I didn’t catch anything.
Before I began, I did my daily meditation on a log that extended into the lake, then I started my walking loop on the shoreline trail. There weren’t many places to stop and fish along the trail, but I enjoyed the quiet of each stop. It was late afternoon on a cloudy mid-week day and so the parking lot was bare, and there were few swimmers in the lake or hikers on the trails.
Nearly 3/4 the way around the lake I saw a log several feet from the shore and parallel to it. The log served as a harbour from the wind that rippled the water beyond it. The contrast on the surface was stark. On the far side, the lake was rippled and murky. On the shoreline side the water was smooth as glass, a mirror for trees and the sky above. The log served as the dividing line, separating the two distinct surfaces as if the log were a rift between two different realities.
It didn’t seem real. One lake, two very different surfaces, a single log creating the separation. I began to think of how we can do this in our minds. We are surrounded by chaos, or distractions, or by the stresses of work, and yet we can tuck these distractions away, for a moment with loved ones, or for a favourite hobby, or for a quiet moment alone. We can compartmentalize moments of stillness in times that are not remotely still.
We are capable of this, but do we do it enough? Do we create the time and space for our minds, or parts of our minds, to be still?
