I come to Fox Island to meditate, to reflect as I gaze across the water. The hypnotic sound and motion of sea and wind, crashing wave and crying gull become a lyric in the song of the universe.
The earthly presence of the granite beneath me, the salt air and the pungent odor of decaying sea-wrack give way to the ethereality of thought and I wander among the swirling conversation of fifty-thousand years of human consciousness.
Distant, the cool wind whispers for attention as it lifts goosebumps along my arms. One moment I remark the lobster boat chugging past and the next I have crossed the threshold of the subconscious that is called lost-in-thought by some, daydreaming by others, out-to-lunch by the unimaginative. I am free of gravity and my mind, loosed from its temporal bonds, weightless.
Unguided, the primal inhabitant of my intellect steps out and journeys through the…