A Spiritual Journey

I am uncomfortable speaking of the N2N-TCP in terms of a spiritual journey, but as Rory and I continue to plot and talk and train and move toward the beginning of the journey the spiritual nature of the trip continues to become a larger and larger presence in our efforts.

The discomfort comes from an degree anxiousness that this sort of external manifestation of an internal journey is really not something to be talked about in polite company. I feel that I run the risk of being a little crazy or off kilter. I don't know why I feel that way, and I suppose at this stage in the progression it's becoming time to lean into that discomfort a little and try to communicate this aspect of the pilgrimage.

The Daily Message from the Universe - Fairhope, AL

Since I started training for this walk, I've broken with culture to a degree. I suppose I always new that the walk across the United States would be a spiritual quest of some sort, and that's why I settled on naming the idea the Newport to Newport Transcontinental Pilgrimage (N2N-TCP). One aspect of breaking from the cultural norms is that I spend much more time outside than I used to spend. Not only is the amount of time higher, but I've come to believe that the quality of the time is also higher. Vanishing from my day to day existence are the televisions and radios, and in their place, the sunsets and sunrises that have been happening on this planet from the beginning of time forced themselves into the forefront of my experience.

These daily celestial events, many shared (because they cannot be truly captured) in the photographs on this blog leave me feeling simultaneously blessed in a very special and intimate way and feeling small in the face of the vastness and power that they indicate is working all around me.  They leave me with a feeling of distance coupled with a feeling of closeness that I find impossible to really describe.

I am beginning to sense when other people have experienced the same sort of paradox in a similar way, and I'm beginning to believe that we all experience these feelings at one time or another. Through my time under the sky on the trail I sense a slow coming together into a feeling of oneness with others that I don't really remember experiencing in the past.

Uncertainty with where any or all of this is leading makes me question the direction this is going from time to time. In those moments of doubt, I'm reminded by Rory that sometimes it's good to step out of line every now and then just to make sure you agree with where the line seems to be heading.

I'm grateful that he's been a partner in these endeavors, and although I have no idea what tomorrow will reveal, I'm looking forward to finding out.

Meeting a Fellow Traveller

Today, I went searching for a slightly different view of the sunrise over the Anacostia River.  I was also running a little short on time for the morning ambulation, and because of the confluence of these events took a route less travelled.  I did get a slight different view of the rising of the sun, but that's not the only thing that happened.

Sunrise on the Anacostia as Seen Under the 11th Street Bridge - Washington, DC

Shortly after taking this picture, I walked up to the crest of the 11th Street Bridge in Southeast, Washington, DC, and on my way to the top I was passed by a relatively young woman jogging and carrying a video camera on a tripod.

She set up her camera on one of the pedestrian overlooks facing downriver to the west and started filming.  I was on the phone with Rory Conlan talking about agreeing on a "new" thirty day practice, so I took little notice.  On the way back, I did think it a bit odd to be filming to the west, and I decided to ask her what the jogging and the filming were all about.

She told me she was filming the sunrise (to the west mind you) over the Anacostia for a documentary film. I countered that I'd been considering setting up a camera to take a series of still photos to create a time lapse sequence, and she said that particular approach was on her list as well. She expressed some concern that she'd be able to find a spot where a camera wouldn't be bothered by other people, and I allowed that I shared similar reservations.

At the end of the conversation, I moseyed along, and as I walked away realized that I'd not given her my name and she'd not volunteered her own moniker. In retrospect, the civil approach would have been to introduce myself, and given a chance to have another go at that conversation I would have tried the introduction route.  I'm not sure it would have worked, but it would have been worth a try anyway.

This realization coupled with the recent conversation between Rory and I has solidified in my mind what form my next thirty day practice will take.  I'm going to introduce myself to a stranger every day for thirty days and see what falls out of that experience. I'm not sure where it will lead, if anywhere, but I'm amazed I have lived for over four decades and have never tried an experiment of this nature.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow and the new experiences that the new addition to my practice might add. I may even have to get a series of business cards printed up to aid in the introductions. I've got a number of professions to list, so it certainly wouldn't be boring. It might even be time to put that Newport, OR phone number to use.

Watching the Day Perish

Getting back on the trail has been a slow process over the last four days, but with patience, I'm confident that hill will be conquered. One of the good things to come out of the experience is the opportunity to spend a little more time in places that I've normally just breezed past. The distances covered art not nearly as long, and the pace is certainly slower. That's not all bad since it gives the opportunity to see a little more, to linger a little longer, and if I'm lucky, get in a few more photos.

Severn River - Looking North

This morning dawned crisp and clear. The sun was shining, and the weather, though a bit nippy was about as good as could be hoped for in Maryland during the month of February.  I was hoping to capture some shots of the river iced over this year, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen. We'll see how it plays out, but there is always next year.

Baltimore-Annapolis Boulevard Bridge - Severn River

A friend of mine noted that the calm wind didn't make for very good sailing weather, and she's not wrong about that aspect of the morning.  I like the calm. The photos are better because of the reflections off the surface of the water, and it would be a glorious (though bracing) day for water skiing.  I'll have to share the tale of water skiing naked behind under the Hathaway Bridge someday. Today is not that day.

Abandoned Boat Slips - Severn River

Now that the days are getting longer and the sun is setting earlier, sunrises on the weekends are getting a bit harder to capture.  I'm up in time, but have other commitments so early morning lighting will be what's on the menu until next fall. Perhaps I'll catch a few dawns while on travel.

Crossing the Baltimore-Annapolis Boulevard Bridge

The play of the sky and the water make the quality of light here in Annapolis a thing that competes with the best areas of southern Europe on the Mediterranean. One day, I hope to see these vistas from much, much higher up.

Hospital Point on the Severn River

The walk took me a little farther than I had planned, and my foot felt the burn. I'm pretty sure I didn't overdo things too much, but the freedom of the trail was calling, and pushing things just a bit seemed like it was worth a bit of discomfort. The morning ended my time on the trail, and that gave me the freedom to spend the sunset in a slightly different manner than has been my ambulatory habits of the past.

Sunset on Spa Creek

It takes some patience and a warm hat to fully experience the dying of a day. The warm hat is probably optional, but it proved to be an experience enhancing addition today. 

From the time this picture was taken, till the time the charcoal gray of the night sky had chased the warmth to the western horizon took just under an hour. I spend that time on the Eastport Bridge, looking west, and the experience is something that I think I'd like to repeat. I saw at least a dozen airplanes stream past. Their icy contrails were turned into orange fire as the refracted rays of the setting sun glinted off their lines in the sky. Like slowly moving meteors, the scribed their path to points south.

Spa Creek Sunset

As the blue of the sky faded to indigo, I saw duck and geese fly past with the bellies painted pink by the setting sun. As the death of the day unfolded, I was the only one on the bridge watching it happen. Cars rushed past behind me, and a large number of walkers stopped to snap a few shots. Time slowed down, and the distractions were easy to ignore. I don't get this kind of experience from watching an hour of television. Getting outside and seeing things happen at their natural pace is the only thing that makes me really want to come back and try to describe what it's like. The words are inadequate. The air was cool and the light breeze kept things antiseptic and not very nourishing. I actually loved the peppery heft that the man with the cigar brought to the scene. The fullness of that moment was fleeting as the breeze whisked it away up the creek. A couple of lovers stopped to canoodle up a few paces toward Eastport. A bit of hugging and a nuzzle or two, and they moved on inspired to come together but now stay for the end.

Nightfall on Spa Creek

The inky sky marched westward, and the charcoal blackness of night followed close at its heels. When I finally saw the last rays of the dying day slip below the horizon I turned to my car and walked back across the bridge with Jerry Macker. He's the best bass player in the state of Maryland according to his account anyway. He's certainly fallen on hard times, but it was great to make his acquaintance at the end of the day. He told me to look for him downtown this summer, and that he'd make every effort to play at the Eastport vs. Annapolis tug-o-war tournament. I'll look for him there. Meeting him and making the connection, however brief, was the gift of the day as it receded into history.