honey and sting

Forgot to mention the lake yesterday. From Kripalu, a ten-minute walk down a winding drive, across the road, and down a path through woods, light filtered through leaves, beetle on the path, chipmunk running across it, then a bog, with frogs sounding like base notes on a guitar filtered through a reverb, across a little bridge, then sand, then lake. Morning: step into the cool water, "cold!" the body says, but you keep going, slow step, by easy breathing step... and the body says, "aahh", and you say, "I told you so," and soon you are up to your neck in cool water, arms floating bouyed on the surface, no one else about but birds chasing each other in the trees on the shore, and an occasional kayaker deep into the lake. The ground is soft and silty underfoot, and there is quiet and calm. You toes push the soft gravel around just to feel how good it is. There are tiny ripples all around you, and the sky is misty and bright. If you could sing a song now, you would, if only you knew one quiet enough to enter into this peace.