Cooler weather

One of my favorite feelings in the world has always been breathing a cold rush of air into my lungs. I remember as a child getting up in the morning, walking to the front door in my pajamas and opening it enough to stick my head out and see if the air was cool enough to warrant further action. And some days, it was. I would then slide through the opening and step out onto the porch. And breathe. Deep, slow breaths. The cool air rushed oxygen to my brain, enlivening my perceptions of all that was around me. Simultaneously, the coolness in my chest relaxed every part of my soul. I had a sense of being in a space that was bigger than myself, and I had the mental alacrity to perceive its details. "The earth is the Lord's and all that is in it" (24:1).

The mountains hold this magic. It gets cold at night in the mountains and most of the year you can step outside your cabin or tent early in the morning and take these deep, stilling breaths. The soul opens itself to wonder, and the mind becomes perceptive of wonder's materials. The birds' songs become clear. White and black stripes on the back of a chipmunk 20 yards away become separated. And as you sit to soak it all in, you enter a noticeably different position in creation. You become one with your surroundings, but you are the thinker, the philosopher, the poet, the developer of culture and creation.

I find it difficult at this point to not then DO something: to not write, to not get started with the day and make breakfast and get to the sights that are to be seen. It is difficult to learn to be in that place, to allow our beings to be affected by simply being who we are in the cosmic orders of creation. Stepping into that place created in my soul by the cold, crisp air in my lungs is like stepping into a rich memory. Not a memory thick and heavy with detail and meaning that is to be figured out; but a memory richly detailed but light, like a dream, in its acceptance of something true. It is a memory that was there "in the beginning" with God, a memory that is always there beside me, just out of my reach, just beyond my longing to know who I am.

Another time this mystery finds me is during the change to autumn. The highs in Chicago this week have been around 60 degrees and the lows have been in the low forties. And every time I've stepped outside a hint of this mystery has opened my soul and I've found more peace than the day had at first promised.