Experiencing spaciousness

Back when we lived on this island full-time, we used to go down to the Neck most evenings in summer. Our elderly springer spaniel would walk down with us, and Kiwi, the gosling we rescued, would tag along; the girls would play in the sand, and I’d bring my camera and photograph the sunsets.

So last night, after spending the evening with my old friends Barney and Joyce, I drove down to the Neck to see the sunset. As you can see, I wasn’t disappointed; it was a lovely evening. What intrigues me about this photo, though, is that I’ve never actually taken this picture before. In those days my telephoto wasn’t as strong, so the pictures took in more – the dock off to the left, Keith’s boat off to the right, and maybe a little of the trees on either side to frame the image.

But the camera I have now, though it’s much less expensive than the Nikon I had then, is also more sophisticated, and now for the first time I can see this lovely layered scene off in the distance.

I’m wondering if there’s some parallel here with aging. In some ways, it’s easier to get the big picture these days; easier not to get all caught up in the details, missing the forest for the trees. But at another level, even though life is shorter than it was back then, I feel I have more time to zero in on things, to examine them more closely, and to find the beauty lurking in hidden corners that in my younger days I was just too busy to see.

For sure I’m looking through a different lens now; certainly everything I see is filtered through another 13 years of life experiences since I last stood here, supervising my children’s play, throwing sticks for the dog and protecting Kiwi from marauding eagles. But my attention – and intention – is honed, and sharpened, so I see more; see subtleties of color and shape I missed before.

But here’s the other thing: in those days my motives for shooting were different: I was trying to capture a moment, and I was still in a sort of desperate “will it sell?” mode, hoping to impress a potential buyer. Plus I was shooting film, and had no idea if the pictures would come out right, so I was trying lots of different angles and exposures hoping one would work.

Now I know what I’m getting right away, so the guesswork and the frantic repetitions are removed. And I’m not trying – or even planning – to sell; my only wish is to share the beauty and the peace of this place with you. So I can relax, shoot what I like, know that it worked, and then stop, and just be aware that I’m very fortunate to be here in this place. There’s a lovely spaciousness in that; an openness, without the pressure of performance. And of course Byron Brown has something to say about that in this morning’s reading from Soul Without Shame:

“To experience your own spaciousness is to recognize the true nature of your soul, a felt sense that has nothing to do with personal history, ideas, behavior, or accomplishments. It is always there but easily ignored. It is tangible and powerful yet difficult to focus on and even harder to describe… With time and awareness it becomes possible to accept and appreciate the experience of spaciousness in your head, your body, or your sense of who you are. This opens the way for the sense of barren or frightening emptiness to become the experience of open space. When you stop looking for something to fill the space, you can begin to…feel and embrace your own spacious nature.”

Perhaps what really makes a difference is that, with time, the camera has become less an instrument and more a sort of carry-all. Now when I throw that strap over my shoulder and hit the road, I know what’s really happening is that I’m off again in search of beauty, spaciousness and peace. And in bringing my camera, I’m bringing you right along with me.

Thanks for joining me!