Monday morning, mid-June, warm not hot. A kayak trip up Satchel Creek at Lake El Dorado in southeast Kansas. I am alone in the universe.
The regular rhythm of the paddle in the water inspired these thoughts.
Not haiku, but rules are made to be broken, otherwise how would we improve. Hopefully, the verse is Basho-like, Bashō no yōna. But first, a word from the Master:
With awe I beheld
Fresh leaves, green leaves,
Bright in the sunlight.
— Matsuo Basho, Road to the Deep North
Satchel Creek starts out wide as it empties into the lake. Then, as it meanders past rocky shoals, it narrows, until finally the kayak bottoms out on the rocks and one can go no further. But that is still a ways off. A Great Heron accompanies me for a while. Along the way are sunken logs and fallen trees. Spider webs catch their prey. Catfish and carp jump out of the water to catch a fly.
The silence of the water and woods,
The stillness of the air
Until one feels a gentle breeze,
And hears the flapping wings of a Great Heron
Leading the way
To who knows where
Paddling up Satchel Creek
In a sleek blue kayak
Past sunken logs and fallen trees
Suddenly, a carp
Grasps a floating bug
Slap goes the water
Matsuo Basho began one his famous journey north with this:
Paddling along, silently wondering, where are the turtles resting on logs in the morning sun? Birds call out sweet songs, unseen in the tall trees.
Turtles will sleep ‘til noon,
Oh, how they hate to get up in the morning.
Have you ever heard a Chickadee call,
High up in a tall tree?
Lake El Dorado was created by the US Army Corps of Engineers in 1981. The waters flooded the old town of Chelsea, but its cemetery remains at the north end of the lake. Along the lakeside and up Satchel Creek, flooding left many old trees in the water. Their ghostly gray silhouettes a reminder of what was once woodlands. The first verse mimics Basho’s thoughts of a crow on a withered branch.
On a withered branch
A blue heron keeps watch
Wary of Summer’s strangers
Dead trees like skeletons
Standing in the water
Praying for what?
Water, water everywhere,
And not a drop to think.
A Mulberry tree along the bank,
Its fruit a gift for me…
Thomas Wolfe famously said, “You can’t go back home again.” Heraclitus said, “You could not step twice into the same rivers.” Do they mean the same thing?
I am back in Wichita.
Why do they say,
You can’t go back home again.
Why does the river flows on and on?
Uncertainty was the reason for this trip. The uncertainty of tomorrow, the uncertainty that keeps eating away at me, that brings me down. And, as I alluded to in my last post, I felt that with travel I could escape the discontent that uncertainty brings. I was surprised to find it waiting there for me.
As Seneca advises, I need a change of soul.
“Are you surprised, as if it were a novelty, that after a long travel and so many changes of scene you have not been able to shake off the gloom and heaviness of your mind? You need a change of soul rather than a change of climate.” Seneca’s Letters from a Stoic, 29.
Matsuo Basho, on the other hand, gives us his own version of the Serenity Prayer:
Every day’s a journey, the journey itself is home.