Spirit of the Mist

"To see a world in a Grain of Sand,
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour."

William Blake (1757-1827)

This is a sacred place of great mystery and spirituality for over ten thousand years. I am but only one of millions over the centuries that have come to witness this spectacular force of nature born of water and rock. A steady stream of cold water runs down my chest forcing me to grasp in short elevated breaths as the mist surrounds me in a white shroud of moisture. Wind drives raindrops against my exposed face unable to see in alabaster blindness, I shift my footing to regain balance. The roar of a million lions would be lost like a falling leaf in a great forest as the tidal wave of sound that assaults the senses. The earth quivers from the power of billions of tons crashing from the sky to ground below. For the briefest of moments we collectively discover how insignificant our life is within the context of this surreal world, humbled by a scale that is difficult to comprehend, yielding to a power that is immeasurable in one’s mind. All my concerns, worries and thoughts erode from the soul in presence of the sublime.

Never before have I been able to find such spirituality with nature while standing shoulder to shoulder in a crowd of hundreds. Assessing the sublime beauty of nature in the past has always been a solitary endeavor requiring silence and reflection as it systematically revealed itself in an intimacy of a new lover. Seldom can I recall the spirituality of nature being so literal and bold, untamed as it screamed to your soul to listen as you have never listened before. As if it was a sign of divine intervention the grey day broke the exact moment before the object of our journey was revealed to our timid eyes. The fog surrounding everything begins to glow with an angelic softness and light. The roar intensifies as it shakes the flesh, while the wind howls with rich organic breath of the essence of all life. Bodies shift and clamor to steady themselves against each other as the footing bounces and bucks like a wild mare. Nothing in life could prepare me for the vision that emerges from the glowing cloud of mist as I try to comprehend the wispy transparent spirits that dance in the fog like jesters swirling on the air in the court of the king. Each gust of water laden air makes the snowy spirits spin in pirouettes as I wipe the dew from my brow. Each of us is covered in a thin blue plastic veil which bellows and balloons around us like a legion of monks huddled before the mouth of a hurricane.

Suddenly the cloud of mist parts revealing a wall of water falling from the sky hundreds of feet above, as a slight sliver of blue sky trace the top of the cascading torrents of water with white cottony clouds dances with soft misty fog blending into a glowing frame in which to view this majestic fury. The scene is completely devoid of color with the exception of the pale stripe of azure sky and the foam green trace of water being refracted in the sunlight. The view is as inspiring as furious, heavenly as destructive, seductive as demanding. My mind reels as I turn my headed only to discover that the wall of water encompasses my entire view in all directions, as the narrow gap we entered from disappears behind the ubiquitous cloud of mist. It is as close to a vision of the gates of heaven I have ever imagined, glowing angelic white, powerfully defensive preventing all but the pure from entering. As the mist washes over me, I feel my sadness, my isolation, my pain subside and be cleansed from my thoughts. Calmness fills me as I deeply inhale the spirit laden mist from this sacred place, allowing me to once again feel joy in the presence of such incredible reverence. It has been a long time since I felt connected to the world, having drifted in a meaningless wasteland of false hope for which there was little comfort. The cold mist had slaps my soul to awaken from a pathetic destructive trance which had been suffocating my mind.

Returning to shore with the balance of the worshipers bathed in enthusiastic glee, I am at once drained but renewed by the short experience up the river. Images of sublime beauty, heavenly power and swirling clouds of mist dancing before my eyes, fills my mind. Discovering this idyllic place, we find ourselves filled with a yearning to linger here, where time has no start or end, but is constant and beauty overwhelms. I have been touched by the spirit of a greater power and it has rendered me tranquil and renewed to set forth with vigor. In the days since my experience at the falls, I have reflected on the sheer power and beauty frequently which in some unique way I am changed. My soul has seen an earthly rendition of the gates of heaven guarded by the spirit of the mist finding comfort in her majestic beauty and to this end I can see her majestic beauty is all I see.

Horseshoe Falls, Niagare, Canada Photo by Mr. Blue

"There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature - the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter."

Rachel Carson

Where Dreams Go To Die

On loess bluffs high above the plain
towers a statuesque oak with no memory
as wind whispers patterns on placid water
songbirds sing of hope in azure skies

Dreams tethered with love drift on sultry breezes
chasing willowy clouds to summer’s soft shoulder
caressed by sheltering limbs they become prisoners
no longer seeking fulfillment of childish wishes

Desperately seeking inspiration in fleeting daylight
my love’s caring hands grow cold to the touch
as painful eyes betray longing in a broken heart
yet tears fall to be devoured by parched earth

Immersed in endless beauty of nature’s undeterred wealth
with little reason to struggle against destiny’s will
for sadness of loss can never scream loud enough
to free dreams from its solemn resting place

Cruel is unintended consequences of circumstance
where forces of time are blind to unrealized ecstasy
obscuring the grace of endless compassion
with indifference to the promise of tomorrow

Unbounded love shall not secure freedom
for stormy night fade silently from view
as rain kiss crimson lips of passion
knowing dawn will steal heaven’s joy

Beauty abounds for final embrace burns
as dreams dies fearing the approaching sunset
on loess bluffs high above the plain
mourned by a statuesque oak with no memory

Mr. Blue

You Are Love

Halifax, Canada 2007. Photo by Mr. Blue

"A soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone."

Johann von Goeth (1749-1832)

The City Beautiful

Where sea and sand meet under the sun is a city which appears to be paradise. After spending a week in San Diego, I was almost hypnotized by its radiance. Slowly a ray of glorious California sunshine peaked through my resort hotel drapes to reveal a simple truth. The realization took considerably longer than in most cities for me to discover, but once revealed it was undeniable.

The days were filled with the typical tourist locations and experiences. I toured the newly opened Midway Museum and marveled at this retired symbol of American military might. I attended a reception on a paddlewheel cruise in Mission Bay while watching fireworks light the sky over Sea World. On Sunday, I strolled Seaport Village and watched brightly colored kites fill the crystal blue sky as beautiful young blonds in shorts whirled by on rollerblades. I dined next to a flickering fireplace in La Jolla while enjoying an incredible gourmet restaurant perched high on a cliff as the sun set over the Pacific. In the evenings I would wander along the shore passing the multitude of roaring campfires which softly illuminated the sand as the sounds of laughter floated over the water. I spent evenings sitting in Old town with friends drinking some of the more than 600 types of Tequila festooned along the walls of a cantina as the scent of jasmine caressed my face. The entire time where was something lingering in the back of my mind, a small unsettled feeling that something was not right.

While in a restaurant bar waiting for a table I was surrounded by a group of attentive beautiful young women who seemed sincerely interested in what I was talking about. Now I definitely know something is not right! It has been more than twenty years since I’ve been able to turn the head of a beautiful young woman. Finally it came to me, this place is not real. This place is too perfect. I stumbled into a Disney stage set while some sort of play was unfolding. I listened closely to the background music for a clue. You can always tell a Disney property by the signature of the subtle background music which is carefully designed to enhance the visitor’s experience. No, I was not able to identify Mickey Mouse playing the piano. I concluded it was not a Disney property, but where was I?

I began to study the crowd in detail. I was surrounded by perfectly white bleached smiles framed by full collagen lips. The enhanced breasts and contoured butts allowed the haute couture custom-fitted clothing to contrast the radiant artificially tanned skin. I studied one of the girls in her Calvin Klein silk tank dress topped by a vintage floral print opera coat trying to find her balance in platform Manolo Blahnik shoes as she clutched a vintage Dior purse. What was most disturbing was that she was perfectly color coordinated with her girl friend who was wearing a Dolce and Gabbana beaded lace slip dress with a beaded Fendi baguette. Next to them was a man posing in an Armani Charcoal Pinstriped 3-Button Suit with a black silk shirt open around the neck revealing his bare waxed chest sculpted by Bowflex. Each individual looked and acted like they had just walked off a fashion runway in Paris.

New arrivals to the restaurant drove up in a waxed and detailed midnight black Mercedes or a silver Audi sporting $500 sunglasses and jet black spiked hair as if imitating a celebrity porcupine. Each observation reinforced the concept of corporate crafted perfection embraced to a level of cult status. As I delved deeper in conversation, this commercial worship permeated every aspect of social existence; from the USC or Stanford education, to the tofu bean sprout vegetarian meals, to the save the whales fundraisers, to the personal Pilates instructor focused on improving body awareness. Even the names were revealing, like Chase, Dylan, Cadence and Paige. The only reason to provide your child such a name is to manufacturer a celebrity. All great art requires contrast or contradiction to “break the rules” and provide tension. Contradiction in art invokes the question “why”? Suddenly I realized I was the element of contradiction in this beautiful seascape. Maybe that would explain why I was so intriguing to the young beautiful social elite. Maybe they had never met a person who could care less about who your hairdresser was or what country club you belonged to. A person who would scoff at the insanity that someone would pay $1600 for a pair of shoes.

I began to wonder if I was Truman Burbank, a vaguely unhappy businessman in the perfect little seaside town of Seahaven. In the 1998 film “The Truman Show”, Truman starts to think that he is being watched. Little does he knows that his entire life is secretly filmed, his town is a gigantic sound-stage, everyone he has ever known was an actor and that his every waking and sleeping second is broadcast around the world as a top-rated docu-soap. I immediately began to scan the room for hidden cameras. Any second Allen Funt would walk out from behind the bar saying “You’re on Candid Camera”.

Standing at the bar I was transported back to my great aunt’s house where we would visit as a kid. Everything was perfectly arranged, but nothing ever moved out of place in all the years we visited. I would sit fearful about touching anything on the over stuffed baroque sofa with each cushion preserved in a clear vinyl plastic cover. My legs would stick to the vinyl making any movement an exercise in pain as you ripped the skin from the back of your legs. My aunt could tell what objects you looked at three rooms away let alone what you touched. Every visit I would sit rigid as a board mortified that I might upset the arranged perfection of the room. San Diego was just an oversized replica of my aunt’s house. This replica was expanded to include people, plants and animals, sort of the new improved next generation aunt’s house.


Despite of all of the trappings of perfection and beauty you could detect a slight emptiness while staring into those crystal blue lazik corrected eyes. Vietnam veterans would return home with what we called “the thousand yard stare”. It was subtle but each of the commercial debutants had the same thousand yards stare. I couldn’t tell if the hopelessness and disappointment was the realization that someone in the crowd was wearing a more expensive pair of shoes or if it was darker. Could it just be the Xanax-Prozaic-Vallium pharmaceutical cocktail everyone eats like M&M’s to keep them from rushing madly into a manic suicidal depression and putting a shotgun to their forehead? It must be the perfection.

Life requires balance and contrast. Evil cannot exist without good, ying without yang. The dichotomy of polar opposites provides distinction and a multitude of shades of grey. “Variety is the Spice of Life”. Maybe being forced fed a continuous diet of sunshine, flowers, expensive sports cars and trendy friends become monotonous and debilitating. When the most diverse daily experience is choosing between the pan seared Ahi tuna or the poached Chilean seabass you could develop a problem. Plus as I found out, in San Diego you have many hours each day totally isolated in your personal sports car locked in traffic gridlock to ponder relative merits of seabass vs. tuna. “Houston we have a problem!”

I was fortunate to discover this realization late in my visit to San Diego. Otherwise I would have sat around frozen, like in my aunt’s house fearful about touching anything. While approaching the plane I began to relax enough to finally scratch my ass as I watched the rest of the overweight tourists dressed in their brand new Sea World sweatshirt climb onboard. Whew! Just like leaving my aunt’s house I thought that was nice but thank God its time to leave. I swear I didn’t touch or move anything while in San Diego. At least I think I didn’t?

A New Year Wish

To honor those who are gone for we hold their memory.
To cherish those who love us for they give us strength.
To follow your heart for it is the path of happiness.
To see through the eyes of a child for you will live forever.

To give of yourself to the world for it will free your soul.
To weep for those without hope for they will teach you.
To leave a legacy for the world shall remember you.
To live a life of urgency for our time is short.

To seek comfort in family for they connect our past.
To plant a tree for it shall grow for hundreds of years.
To inspire a dream in a child for they are our future.
To banish fear from our hearts for it clouds our mind.

To breathe every breath deeply for it might be our last.
To know the world a better place for you made it so.
To pause at the sight of beauty for it surrounds us.
To love unconditionally for it is the reason we exist.