Trying To Find The Answers

He keeps himself busy with an everyday effort to care for his things. It seems like a losing battle. Here George is working to pull a sunken boat closer to the water's edge. During a low tide he'd placed the stricken vessel atop some floating dock. Now at high tide, he hopes to move it. I passed as he did and he called me to help. His daily tasks are his meditation. His true work is much more profound. The shifting realms, physical and spiritual are inter-changeable across this marsh. The wind over the meadow carries the mystic to and fro. Grassy draws Limbo bound souls, sorcerers, witches, and ghosts. George is sheriff, judge and jury. He decides who stays and who goes. Hard and lasting are the decisions at his table. One day he said to me, "Do you know how many people see us from the bridge and come down here with their cameras and paint boxes? I turn them all away. I send the flies and they run. Yet, here you are. It makes me happy to see you working here." As time went on, George let me know, in small doses, how Beeler had found me and how Destiny had brought me here, why they did and just how lucky I was.

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