sonora2sonoma

I wrote to a friend the other day of how my roots run deep in Tuolumne County and how, while a part of me still wants to be there, another part of me is fully aware that the “there” I’m referring to no longer exists, except in my mind. The place that gave rise to my childhood memories has, like all things, been forever altered, changed, transformed by time into something new, different, and not pleasing in the manner in which it once was.

I know that change is inevitable, that nothing remains the same, except, perhaps, for human nature, and even that, in the big scheme of things, is not immutable. The fossils of species gone extinct stand as bleak reminders that nothing in life is guaranteed!

We fancy ourselves the masters of our fates yet in reality we are more like autumn leaves being scattered in the wind.

So, it is in that spirit that I write today, mindful that we are all like leaves on the tree of life seeking assurances that autumn will be merciful and the winds will blow kindly.

While the county, as the world beyond, has undergone dramatic transformation in the years since my childhood, some of the physical manifestations of my own personal history with place have seen similar changes.

The old garage I turned into a house in the early 70s burned down 43 years ago. The one I constructed after the fire was subsequently torn down by the people who followed. The only sign that remains of my time on that land is a shed I erected almost fifty years ago, and it’s far outlived its usefulness—standing now as an aged and decrepit wreck defying gravity out of little more than sheer stubbornness—a wishful promise of a structure out of place in a world that’s moved on.

The rivers I used to love to swim in, cavort beside and wile away countless hours alongside have been inundated for years now, their voices stilled by the motionless waters of reservoirs whose ersatz tranquility is only disturbed by the activity of boating enthusiasts.

A generation of inhabitants has since passed, gone into the unknown, leaving naught but old photographs, tattered letters and fading memories living on in the hearts of those who knew and loved them. With the passing of each generation, the bonds linking the living to their memories of the past become more brittle and strained, until, at last, they too break, at which point folk’s personal recollections about people and events cease to be reminiscences, becoming instead second-hand anecdotes no longer informed by experience.

But that loss of connection is not particular to Tuolumne County; it’s a part of what connects us with people everywhere–the universality of the human condition.

***

A highpoint concerning all the changes I’ve seen is that I’m still here and able to reflect on them, to ponder their meaning and the lessons they have to teach, and to sit down, from time to time, and put some of those thoughts to paper, or, more properly, to hijacked electrons.

But paper will burn and hard drives are prone to failure and I won’t always be around to pursue my musings. The mysteries of life and their ultimate meaning will fall upon others to decode. And that, perhaps, is the final lesson of change.

Yet beyond life’s finality lies a still deeper, larger message: The importance of learning, while we’re here, to thoroughly appreciate the value of things, both large and small, and especially their transient, ephemeral nature—their “in-the-moment” evanescence.  

There is immense joy to be had, for instance, in watching the little birds that come daily to the birdbath in my garden, in observing them as one might observe the passage of clouds overhead, without analysis. Just observing. Silently. Without comment.  Free of inner chatter.

If the past exists only in our minds, and the future is as yet unknowable, all that remains is the present—that transient, eternal moment that forever eludes description because by the time you’ve formed a thought around it, it’s passed into the past. The eternal moment is, therefore, not only beyond words and thoughts, it lies entirely out of and beyond mind.

To switch the mind off, to fully immerse oneself in the present moment, opens the door to an experience of immeasurable clarity of purpose unparalleled by any other means. Not to mention that it is also an experience of pure joy.

So, why not try it sometime? Take a break from thinking about how crazy everything seems, especially right now. Relax. Switch off your mind for a bit. Immerse yourself in the moment . . .

You won’t regret it!

Tim Konrad

October 29, 2020