Today I revisited a trout stream I haven’t fished in quite some time.
I was so glad that I did.
Roaring Brook meanders its way through Suburbia; however, much of it remains hidden from homes and the town roads by thick woods and lush undergrowth.
This was a fact I enjoyed taking advantage of when I was young.
I was always a jealous hoarder of secret trout waters you see.
Whenever speaking of such, I always made sure to use lots of casual hand gestures (suggesting a wrong direction) and vague generalizations in regards to the actual body of water fished.
This is actually a well-honed skill I have developed over the years and it has served me well to this day.
Funny how today everything seemed smaller and less than it used to be as I made my way towards the sound of the running water.
The brambles and briars weren’t less than they used to be however.
They, in fact, were much more than I had remembered them ever being.
After suffering their lashings for what seemed like hours I finally arrived at one of the favorite spots of my youth.
The light here is almost always diffused by the canopy of trees above, causing the colors of the mossy banks, the leaves and wild flowers to really jump out at you.
Yet it is the sound of the water over the stones at the tail end of the pool which I remember the best.
That had not changed.
After being there for a while I realized I had needed this meditative break in my life badly.
Between the everyday stress of running three businesses and trying to give the attention to (while finding the right care for) my troubled teenage daughter, I found myself beginning to stagnate spiritually.
This is never a good thing in life, especially when you are in recovery and doing your best to remain in recovery. I require balance in my life and my spirituality is the key to much of my success in this life; without it and gratitude, I would have no sobriety, no family, no business, nothing.
The great outdoors is my gateway to my personal spirituallity. It is my connection to my god, it is the church that I visit, it opens up for me like a holy book.
Even if the great outdoors is just a tiny pool of water hidden like a gemstone in the woods behind some suburbanites’ McMansion.
Watching my line arc in the current as I plied the depths of my long hidden trout pool, these thoughts crystalized in my mind.
And I smiled.
May 6th, 2013