As I settle into my reflection spot I attempt to calm my mind and absorb the sensations of nature around me. Almost immediately the ice-cold stone beneath me drains the warmth from my thin jeans and makes me shudder.
I scowl and tell myself to focus. I inhale deeply, which makes my shoulders, sore from yesterday’s workout, groan in protest. I viciously kneed my neck, trying to dispel my frustration and the anxiety from the day.
Focus.
Concerns from the morning flit across my mind’s eye as I stare at the uneven ground. Physics homework, looming tests, exams, and bigger questions about where my life is headed rise up and swirl around in my head like opaque gases in an Erlenmeyer flask.
During my 4th attempt to focus, I am distracted by the boisterous cackle of a duck. This makes me smile and ponder what he found so hilarious. It has been 7 minutes and I realize that I can’t possibly focus in this place where there are so many little things to give attention. At this moment, I decide to shift my perspective and let my mind float to whatever I observe—entering into a state of outward thinking instead of one of hyper self-awareness.
I notice the water the humorous duck is paddling through makes no noise, though it is moving and teeming with life. In fact, it appears that someone hit the “mute” button and all sounds from water are silenced. However what sound, or lack of sound, the water forms is complemented by the muffled, rhythmic pad of sneakers and the sharp bark of a dog along the path.
The ground beneath my shoes has been stripped bare except for a few rebellious blades of grass. The ones remaining have grown far too tall and tough for the geese to stoop to for a meal. The dark, piney green of the grass is contrasted with the neon green of moss which lines the water in thick, separated clumps. The moss reminds me of a carpet, and the sandy, rocky soil beneath it, a beach. By allowing myself to think about anything outside my own consciousness I gain the temporary “sight” of which Annie Dillard speaks in her “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” and begin to reflect on this place. Dillard describes this reflection as follows, “when I see this way I see truly. As Thoreau says, I return to my senses…You must allow the muddy river to flow unheeded in the dim channels of consciousness” (Dillard, 35).