We made our maiden voyage on Sunday.
It was a perfect day for kayaking. Slightly overcast, not nearly as showy as the clear blue skies and radiant sun of the days preceding. Sunday was noticeably cooler, with endless ribbons of pale clouds weaving across the sky. Through the clouds we could still see the sun and feel it’s warmth upon us, but it was muted.
Perfect.
My partner and I loaded the kayaks onto the roof racks, our old car creaking under the weight as we stood on the wheels and blindly passed the ratcheting straps back and forth. Once loaded, we headed towards Wood Lake, to a quiet pebble beach and our favorite kayak launching point.
Along the way we passed an elderly lady, partially hunched over, carrying plastic plates to a backyard table, covered in bright yellow plastic tablecloth. Table settings were spread around the makeshift dining table, and bright pink and purple Tulips sat in a tall vase in the middle. There was no fence surrounding her backyard, or obstructing our view, and noticing our curious stares, she smiled and waved in our direction.
Further on down the road amidst slow moving traffic and road construction we passed an old steepled catholic church with a line of cars curled around the building. At the front of the line, there stood a priest and nun, dressed in their full robes, with blue disposable gloves on their hands, and their faces covered by a plastic face shield. The priest was blessing and handing out the communion to participants in their cars, extending the bread and wine (or grape juice and wafers for all I know…) on a round silver tray that had been attached to a long, flat stick.
It might have looked ridiculous to some. It certainly would have in any year before 2020. I didn’t find it ridiculous at all. Only strange, and brave, and beautiful. My eyes began to water, and I looked away from the scene, embarrassed at being so unexpectedly overcome. Then turning towards the passenger seat I watched my love wipe a finger along her own eye. We drove forward in silence.
We arrived at the beach and unloaded our kayaks into the water. Wood lake and Kalamalka lake are connected by a narrow channel, and we paddled towards this. We noted rocky outcroppings and small stones clearly visible beneath our boats, the channel far too shallow for any but the smallest and simplest of watercraft. The spring run off will surely raise it in time, and soon enough there will be a cue of boats waiting for their turn through the channel, but early in the season, on this most precious of days, there are no boats upon the water.
From a distance, Kalamalka Lake appears a brilliant emerald green, but on the surface of the water it is dark and glassy, even as a slight wind causes small waves to spill over the nose of my kayak. We navigate through tall reeds that extend beyond the surface of the water, giving way easily as we glide among them. In time these shallow coastal waters will be filled with lilies. This is usually where we turn around, begin our return trip, but not this day. As I look up I find my partner moving away from the reeds and shore into open water, a good 50 feet in front of me. Heading for who knows where.
I am both alone, and tethered.
I catch up to her and we continue along the shore. There is no development here, only nature and endless signs of no trespassing. It makes us want to trespass. Makes us wish we had a blanket and some food for an impromptu, illegal picnic. We continue on, “just beyond”, “just a little further”.
We come across an eagle, perched at the top of a lone solitary pine, higher than all others. We take out our cell phones to attempt to capture her and fail miserably. Our eyes, though not nearly as powerful or clear as hers, do a much better job of focusing on her, obscuring all other objects in our field of view that are not her, then our cameras do. This is a wonder, even as we disappointingly return our phones to our pockets.
We come across a small cave covered in sprayed graffiti. Painted across the rocks are names of couples paired together or encased in hearts, graduation classes of numerous years, illegible words partially covered over, and a beautiful rendition of a raven and bear face to face, and a large smiley face painted over the front of them. The caves are unofficially named after the smiley face that often frequents them, but the placement of it over the scene seems obtrusive and violent.
With each new sight and landmark we discuss turning back. I’ve known for a while now where my wife is leading me. It’s long been a goal of hers to kayak to Kalamalka Lake’s Z-cliffs, a large rock face where the jutting rock and shadow create the shape of a “Z”. We are a long way from where we launched, but the cliffs have never been closer.
In the silent rhythm of watching the coastline and endlessly cutting through the water, I’ve been thinking about David Whyte’s poem, “Just beyond yourself”. On the surface it’s a simple poem, about living beyond your comforts and familiarities, about extending your boundaries. Somehow the heart of the poem has always seemed to elude me. The way all great poetry does, until you’re ready to hear it.
Ready to hear it? Here it is in its entirety:
“Just beyond yourself.
It’s where you need to be.
Half a step into self-forgetting
and the rest restored by what you’ll meet.
There is a road always beckoning.
When you see the two sides of it closing together at that far horizon and deep in the foundations of your own heart at exactly the same time,
That’s how you know it’s the road you have to follow.
That’s how you know it’s where you have to go.
That’s how you know you have to go.
That’s how you know.
Just beyond yourself,
And it’s where you need to be.
(Copyright Many Rivers Press, Langley, WA, USA, from David Whyte’s book, “The Bell and the Blackbird”)
On that day, and most days since, I’ve been thinking about the word ‘just’, how crucial it is. Just beyond yourself. I think of how my sly wife knew where we were going all along, but kept beckoning to the next landmark. How she invites me to expand myself by degrees. That the only decision before us is whether we will shrink or expand? Follow that road, or return home? Retreat, or embrace what is next?
As we glide through the water, the ‘next’ is finally our destination. The cliffs are hidden from sight as we approach, guarded by Canadian geese camouflaged amongst the grey rock face, hidden and spread among the crevices. It is a strange sight and one I’ve never encountered before, these iconic guardians, stationed and keeping watch. As we round the bend in the rock, the cliffs extend as high as we can crane our necks, the slightest rays of sun peaking through the openings at the very top. The cameras come out again, and again fail to capture the immensity of it all. How small you feel in the face of it. But they are still glorious pictures.
At Z-cliffs we finally turn around. We might have stretched the use of the word, ‘just’. All told we were on the water for three and a half hours, and paddled over 15km that day. Later my sore right wrist would turn out to be tendonitis that would require a few weeks of anti inflammatories, compression wraps and rest before returning to normal.
It’s a price I will gladly pay for extending my boundaries, for a day like that.
It occurs to me that this is what all of us are doing right now, and continually invited into. Going just beyond ourselves. That’s what elderly woman was doing, setting tulips on a rickety backyard table. That’s what the priest and nun were doing, extending sacraments on makeshift trays. What each participant was doing, lining up and taking communion in their car. It is what each of us has been doing, willingly or forced, with varying degrees of success or acknowledgement, for just over a year now.
We are beckoned further than ever before. The ‘just beyond’ is demanding and difficult so often. We have been flexible, adaptable, exhausted, stretched and strained. All of it. But we are also greater, expanded. We are further than we’ve ever been before. Far past where we have been previously comfortable.
“Just Beyond Yourself,
It’s where you need to be”.
And it is exactly where we are.
