A magic scene
This time of year, our little Midcoast towns are flooded with visitors. And why not? Shouldn't others appreciate what we have found to be of such quality? The congestion gives us locals a good excuse to flee the area, and what better direction to flee than further Downeast, further into the essence of Maine?
And so, a few days ago, on a sparkly early morning, I found myself sitting on Jasper Beach which is just south of Machiasport, a mere three hours from here. The 15-foot tide was just at it's low ebb, and I had walked down across a 200-foot wide strip of very smooth, rounded stones.
Facing south, looking out to sea, as the tiny waves lapped the shore at the water's edge, looking out at numerous islands and a lighthouse in the distance; it was one of those moments of extreme contentment, those moments which our local musician Dave Mallot expressed so well:
"There's no past, and there's no future, only now
We have come upon this magic scene somehow."
I looked down at the endless field of stones around me. There was not a trace of plastic nor anything not formed by centuries of natural forces. Not even deep in the interstices of the pebbles could my sense of nature's perfection be spoiled.
We often say in jest, "I'm not a native, but I got here as quickly as I could." I know in my heart of hearts, that every place and time has the possibility of being "sacred space," that is, a place which is whole and complete in itself. Yet some places are easier to perceive the magic in, and are more likely to put is in the mood to receive their sacredness. I'm so glad — I feel so deeply lucky — that, here in my dotage, I've landed in Maine.