Beginnings.
I’m good at them. Starting things.
Getting motivated for the next big thing, whatever that might be.
Life transitions, landmark birthdays, major epiphanies.
Cool.
Or perhaps the next little thing.
Quiet time for reflection, renewal, rejuvenation.
Peace.
That’s where I was when I left for the west coast of Denmark.
My mind was like the Dew Drop Inn, open and ready for business. Readying myself to have some warm apple pie and a cup of joe (literally and figuratively as you’ll see), taking the edge off of the day-to-day. Joe and I hadn’t properly prepared, but off we went with our tents, clothes, and sundry food items loaded into the car for the journey ahead.
The radio sucked. The wrong songs played at the wrong time in the wrong order. If we had only prepared enough to bring the iPod-cigarette lighter jack, it would have been handled. So in between the conversations and the occasional snooze, I peppered the 5 hour ride with a mental soundtrack that included songs like Lenny Kravitz’ “Fly Away” or Fabolous’ “Breathe.” Tracks that would get me to any place but city. We stopped along the way for gas, fast food, and candy. A 180° turn away from my normal.
Upon arrival at the lighthouse, it had that same eery feeling it had 2 years earlier. But the fact that this was summer and not fall made a huge difference. More cars were parked in the parking lot for the National Park than previously (it wasn’t even called the National Park back then. I wonder if the social conservatives decided to make this distinction in a moment of national pride, as they had years earlier in establishing the first Danish cultural canon) and more people roamed about the interiors of my little lighthouse. I had to share it. We went inside what was to be our home for the week, the living quarters right next to the lighthouse.
After pitching the tent, we decided to get something to eat. I was angry at myself for not assembling a more suitable snack. I could’ve rocked a nice pasta with olives, feta cheese, and roasted pine nuts, or a crusty bread with brie and a tapenade, but fruit, bread, and cheese would have to do. We ate, and quickly descended to the place that was on our hearts and minds. The water’s edge.
This was no easy task. We had to first walk through the forest, and then find our way through the pre-desert. I call it that because it is what lies before the sand dunes and the beach. Is this what they mean by the word ‘bramble’? If not, it should be. It had the look of a Brontë novel as I could see Heathcliff and Catherine following the same path that Joe and I were now taking. And afterwards, as always, the glorious dunes were not want to disappoint.
In full majestic glory, these dunes rise high along the length of the western coastline. We climbed and climbed, and on top of one dune we turned back to look from whence we came. The lighthouse was there like a watchful mother, making sure all the children could see where she was to provide assurance that all is well.
We descended an embankment that led to sea, something we couldn’t do the last time. The wind was just too strong.
I had forgotten the power of the sea. The energy seems to transfer from one wave to your feet, washing and sloughing off all that ails. (When Joe and I still lived in New York, we bought a machine from our chiropractor that was supposed to mimic the healing powers of walking along the beach. Soooo American. The Danes would say, “just walk along the damn beach!”)
Each stone I stepped on had it’s own grace and beauty.
I denied myself the temptation to take lots of them home because I knew they wouldn’t be as beautiful once away from their ancestral home.
They would lose some of their power in the shadow of the dry city.
I didn’t want to leave, I wanted to soak up as much of the sea’s power as possible, but leave we did.
We then walked into another path that took us deeper into the interior of the forest. The forest, not to be outdone by sea, revealed its true nature and I realized that I had forgotten how much trees like to talk. (This was something I learned as a child when we would go “down South.” Going down south for African Americans used to be a yearly pilgrimage for Northern blacks, as we wanted to keep the ties to those of us who had remained in the South. This is a tradition that is disappearing as populations move and the family structure - particularly extended family – disintegrates.) They all whisper at the same time, wanting your time and attention in matters both large and small. A sea of chatty Kathy’s who have been waiting, it seems, to tell you what’s own their… minds? In any case, I love what they have to say. Most trees seem to have a need to testify to what it is they’ve learned in life. And I love who I have to be in order to hear them. Still, grounded, and… like a tree.
Joe seems to confuse my reluctance to go camping with a disdain for nature. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I love the mountains, the lakes, the animals, and all of God’s creation. But camping, I reminded him, is man’s creation. Just like the living quarters we have paid to be in is man’s creation. This divide has raged on for years, and when I’ve had enough, out of frustration, I sing lines from the theme song to the American tv sitcom Green Acres, “New York is where I’d rather stay! I get allergic smelling hay! I just adore a penthouse view. Darling I love you but give me Park Avenue!” Alas, we slept in the tents, and furthermore, I liked it.
My major issue with camping really is about running water (or lack thereof), a shower (or lack thereof), and a toilet (or lack thereof). Since these things had been satisfied with our quarters in close proximity, I acquiesced. I must say that the first night was a sleeping disaster as that thin little air mattress Joe thought would provide comfort was not enough. We promptly placed the mattress from the BEDS(!) inside the tent, and the next night’s sleep was like butter (pronounced but-tah). I could hear the frog song (a mating call, perhaps), the little bunny that hopped curiously around this strange structure (I knew it was a bunny because I saw it the next day, right?), and nothing. Nothing! When was the last time that you heard nothing? The point of deep stillness where neither man nor animal punctures sound. The point where nothing stirs. Zzzzzz….
And when it was time to go, we first said our goodbyes to the sea. We then said our goodbyes to the lighthouse as it would be the last time we would stay there. It recently had been sold and we would no longer have the option to rent the living quarters (sigh). We came back to Copenhagen and went back to our everyday lives. It was painful in the beginning as everything seemed dull and artificial. Nature is precious, giving us solace from the physical, tangible world of machines and men. How does one straddle those two existences? I don’t know, but I must try.
Beginnings. I went to the lakes and sat down on the bench. I started hearing in my mind the part of the lyrics in Fabolous’ “Breathe” THAT I LIKE (why are so many rap songs brilliant and life-denigrating at the same time!),
One and then the two
Two and then the three
Three and then the four
Then you gotta BREATHE
Yeah, baby, just breathe…
