All the Strange Hours
The land is very flat and spacious in this part of the great plains just beyond the vision of the Rocky Mountains. I am ten years old and spending the summer here at my grandparents farm. We get up at five a.m. to milk the cows, but after that ritual, when the sun has risen higher in the sky, I wander across the country road opposite the farmhouse—and enter a magical world. Walking into the middle of a vast field of wheat, I let my mind relax into the wide open space of golden waves contrasting with a sapphire blue sky.
The bearded grain is ripe and ready for harvest; heads weighed down by kernels of carbohydrates destined for the granary. The crop will eventually make its way into a loaf of bread or a box of cereal. I take one of the wheat heads and rub it in my hand, separating the grains, and blow the chaff into the wind, watching it swirl and settle into the field. My mind settles at the same time. I repeat this liturgy often, being free to roam the farm and fields.
I am lucky to have this kind of unleashed experience; no school, no parents, no ‘urban’ schedule. I do have a lot of chores but also a lot of time between. Standing in this field offers me a deeper kind of freedom—a vastness unlimited by toys and traditions. Unencumbered earth and sky are teaching me a lesson. I did not know this experience in a farmer’s field would mirror my later life when Buddha’s words echoed in my mind, “Here I stand between heaven and earth…”
Now, as I enter the last chapter of my life, I think back upon those solitary moments; moments that seemed to be beckoning me to wake up. I did not know at the time how convoluted my path would be to return to the experience elicited from that wheat field. It wasn’t until much later that I began to reclaim that awareness, this time in a field of wildflowers high in the mountains. From wheat to wildflowers—what a strange juxtaposition. No stranger than me writing about it.
Strangeness is a quality to which I owe a great deal of gratitude. I remember reading Loren Eisley’s autobiographical work entitled, All the Strange Hours. I felt a kinship with him; a science mind blended with the deep introspection of a philosopher. For me, this contrast morphed into being a seasoned Dharma practitioner and a wanderer in wildness of the natural world. It took a long time to make sense of all the strange hours pieced together though Dharma and the beauty of nature. I think Francis Bacon understood when he penned, “There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.”
One does not aspire to be strange, it is conferred upon them by onlookers who do not understand the proportion. Although I have done my best to fit within acceptable categories, I fail miserably—for the most part. Fortunately, I attracted a mate who is also gloriously strange. We dance together at the oddest moments and make up silly songs. Amidst this craziness is an abiding wish to be guided by nature’s wisdom and dharma in its infinite forms. May we all become ‘strangely aware’ in our own way…for the benefit of all beings.