The Call

In the words of Marianne Williamson: "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we’re liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

"To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Friday, October 22, 2004

The Detour (notes from our 2003 journals)

THE DETOUR (notes from our 2003 journals)
by Larry Bacon August 22, 2003

Well, here we are headed to our second assignment with housecarers  (our new house sitting agency) in Beaverton, Oregon by way of a conference in Portland. I don't know about you but seldom does an everyday event slap me up along side of my head with a message that says, "Hey, Larry, are you paying attention? Do you get this or do you need some more glyconutrients?" Let me tell you what happened on the way to Portland, Oregon from Atlanta, GA by way of Gunnison, Colorado. Charlotte and I headed west from Atlanta having spent nearly three months with heat, humidity, cockroaches the size of mice and southern fried food. The farther west we drove, the lighter we became, both literally and figuratively. We could identify with the early pioneers - setting their sights on the Oregon Territory. Wild Indians, deserts or floods couldn't deter us from our destination! By the time we reached Colorado, I was soaring - in a frenzy to arrive on the west coast - home at last!

Early one morning, we dropped down from the continental divide on Monarch Pass and entered the pleasant community of Gunnison. It had been several days since we had checked our e-mail so we were anxious to locate the local library in order to access the internet. Over the next hour, three different individuals urged Charlotte to take a detour to Crested Butte. They said something about not missing such an opportunity since we were this close. I, on the other hand, was still eager to push on so the 30 mile detour represented way too much delay. Let us just say that against my opinion, we headed off in our new direction and I pouted my way up to Crested Butte.

If you have ever driven along the Gunnison River, you will know how hard it was for me to maintain my aloof disdain for such a journey. Each turn of the road brought new vistas of still pools, rapids and the occasional fly fisherman wading in the shallows, stalking the wary trout.

By the time we drove into the tiny, magical village of Crested Butte, my spirits had been restored. It is nestled in a valley, high up in the Rockies. We were greeted by masses of flowers growing everywhere - baskets, barrels, buckets, boxes, beds and mounds. The air was crystal clear, warm in the sun but cool in the shade. We were even entertained by a distant thunder storm. The long three blocks of multi-colored businesses reminded us of North Lake Tahoe in California back in the 60s. We walked the length of town on the lookout for a place to eat lunch. The young man who took our order for a gargantuan Mexican style wrap, urged us to continue over Kebler Pass. He assured us that we wouldn't regret our decision to do so and the road came out in Delta, CO, our destination anyway. A lady in the visitor center said that by coming to Crested Butte, we had contracted the Ute curse – we would always have to return. When we asked her how many times she had been to Crested Butte, she replied that she had just moved back for the third time. Oh sure! One more detour! But by this time, I was beginning to get the picture.





We topped out quickly at Kebler Pass where we walked over to an old pioneer cemetery. That was the beginning of one of the most awesome sights I have ever experienced. The well maintained gravel road undulated and meandered along the top of the Rocky Mountains through an endless, dense grove of Aspens. You could hardly see through the stark white trunks, the trees were so thick. Dark storm clouds contrasted with the stark blue of the sky and the pale gleam of the looming peaks. It was just like being immersed in a Bev Doolittle painting! Where were the Indian spirits or the hiding bears? Were we to become her next camouflaged subject? (Look very closely at the picture of the aspens) Reluctantly, we left the Aspen forest behind and descended to the interstate to continue our journey. Returning to our original course, I realized how much I would have missed had I not taken that detour. I was struck in a powerful way by the metaphor this represented in my life. How many "detours" have I ignored, denying myself unexplored experiences and adventures? How often have I been so focused on my path that I missed doors along the way? My lesson for the day was to proceed a little slower, watching more closely for those delights along the side of the road (and to appreciate Charlotte’s wisdom more often.)