On the Rock(s) - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

On the Rocks:

In my thoughts, I'm on the rocks
staring out across the bay
and nothing breaks the stillness
of a perfect summer day.

My heart is filled with turmoil -
there's a constant sense of dread,
and I can't shake the feeling
that there's turbulence ahead.

My feelings are conflicted,
I'm uncertain of my fate -
the answer's surely coming
but it's agony to wait.

With eyes closed I'll imagine
that I'm sitting in my spot -
the calm lake lies before me;
the sun shines bright and hot.

It's an odd coincidence
what memory unlocks
when winter winds have chilled me
and my heart is on the rocks.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 2007

Somewhere on the shores of Lake Superior, there's a moss covered rock that looks out on a shallow bay. It sits near a rocky promontory - a place where the weather has a tendency to suddenly change. It provides a panoramic view of an uninhabited island - a place that (to me) still signifies the unknown. Maple Island still shows up in my dreams - and it's always a place of possibilities.

This moss covered rock sits on a bed of flat slate. In our family we referred to this rocky formation as "the point". We played there as children, dubbing it "the hotel" and dividing its various levels into individual rooms, the largest and flattest being "the ballroom."

As a teenager, going to the point became a private pilgrimage. The moss covered rock became my personal sanctuary. It was a calming place to sit and think - or conversely to cleanse my rattled mind of excessive thoughts. I practiced my own personal rituals there, writing down wishes, and names of those I was thinking of - rock on rock - on the stones with a slate "pencil". Perhaps a few were hidden well enough that the name Trevor is still occasionally spotted, or a simple statement like, I WANT TO WRITE! is dislodged by the footfalls of someone on a pilgrimage of their own.

I don't know exactly why I did this, but locating a skinny rock to use as a pencil and writing messages on the slate that nature provided was a bit of family tradition that I'd simply modified. Somehow by writing down those dreams I was making them more real - more attainable - and by writing down the names of those who were in my thoughts I was inviting them into my private communion.

My life feels a bit chaotic and uncertain right now. Nothing is happening fast enough. I don't feel well and I'm mentally and physically exhausted.

My personal frustrations in no way compare to the news out of Orlando, Florida these past few days. Unspeakable horror, hatred and bigotry. Terrible and tragic losses to families. Senseless deaths - of people like Trevor. Conversations become arguments all over social media. What fueled the shooter's rage? Was it based on less than loving ideologies? Was it based on his hatred of the LBGT community? Did he have secret desires of his own that led him to manifest self-hatred by opening fire on the group he wanted to be part of? Who do we blame for creating this monster? Religion? Guns? Ignorance?

I have no answers.

Still, in the midst of all the debates circling 'round me, a few lines from a hymn have echoed in my head:

"No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that rock I'm clinging.
Since LOVE is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?"

My song at this point may not be joyous. It is, in fact, much more of a lamentation; a mournful melody. It is a funeral dirge for those cut down in youth by hatred of one sort or another. I'm tired of trying to definitively label exactly what sort of hate motivated this crime.

But somewhere in the midst of all the mourning I can still see my moss covered rock. It occurs to me, that sitting on a singular rock evokes one image - that of faith. Maybe it's faith in God, or a higher power. Maybe it's an abiding faith that goodness still exists in humanity, or in lofty ideals - truth, justice, liberty... Right now I'm choosing to believe that instead of flinging rocks of accusation around, we should be clinging to the rock in the hymn.

"Since LOVE is lord of heaven and earth..."

It's funny how the image changes when the word rock is pluralized. To be "on the rocks" is to be in peril. It is to be in danger of being bashed on stones and broken. I know from my forays to "the point" that it's easy to loose your footing when you're walking on stones. I know that rocks get slippery when they're wet. My fascination with lighthouses has given me a good understanding of rocks in water and the dangers they pose to ships.

None of us want to be "on the rocks", right?

Yet it occurs to me that while I sat on what I considered to be one rock - it was really rock on rock - like the messages I left on the slate. Fear and faith were always there - one atop the other. Does it really matter whether I sat on one rock or two? The important thing is that I found a place that felt safe, even though the winds could begin to whip around that point at any moment, signalling a swiftly gathering storm. I found serenity in a spot where nature was unpredictable. (Go figure!) I gave that rock meaning, and I gave those rocks meaning.

So I will give the rock, and rocks, meaning once again, as I round the point one more time. I will spell out my point clearly, in writing.

Love and faith are always there - even when misery and brutality seem to be getting the upper hand. In spite of the fact that hate invites monsters among us, love endures.

If I close my eyes for a moment it isn't because I'm in denial. The terrible realities in the world aren't so easily shut out . If my eyelids drop for a moment I'm just feeling a bit overwhelmed by harsh realities that are crashing to shore right now, roiling the sand and trying to erode the rock. The stones are continually shifting and I'm trying to keep my balance.

I will close my eyes and go back to my quiet place - where I am sitting on a moss covered rock, on top of a flat sheet of slate, and looking out over calm waters and islands of possibilities.

I will cling to the rock of love and still feel lulled by gentler waves.