Early evening, right around 5pm, my friend and I were meandering along the lakefront. It was pitch-black dark. The night rules early nowadays around here.
A deep-black sky, with a big, bold, brilliantly-glowing moon, not quite full, but pretty damn close. And the overwhelming, totally expansive, moody, and ominously quiet body of Lake Michigan, the color of deep, dark obsidian, was lit up by the starkly white-light of the moon. A beautifully shimmering path, created by the light-rays of the moon, rippled across the water; iridescent, ghostly, a path leading to, and falling off, the edge of the world.
It was stunning. Uncommon. A take your breath away moment of pure, wordless, nameless, Zen. Sure, it was cold, super-cold out there, but there was a stillness, a hushed silence that seemed to envelope and coat everything. We weren't thinking "god," we weren't grasping onto anything, just taking it all in. It is safe to say we were in a state of wonder and grace. It felt like we were in touch and in tune with a primal, pagan knowledge, ancient, timeless, a complete natural holiness. Yes. Indeed.
