I come to Fox Island to meditate, to reflect, to gaze across the sea until the hypnotic sound and motion of sea and wind and crashing wave become a lyric in the song of the universe.
The worldly presence of the granite beneath my bottom, the salt air, and the pungent odor of decaying sea-wrack give way to the etheriality 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 away offshore and the next I have crossed that threshold of subconscious called lost-in-thought by some, daydreaming by others, out-to-lunch by the unknowing. I am free of gravity and my mind, loosed of its temporal bonds, weightless.
Unguided, the primal inhabitant of my intellect steps out and journeys through the immeasurable reaches…
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