It rained pretty good this morning, then cleared up enough in the afternoon that I was able to go for a nice walk.
When I got back home, the mist was rolling in and I ended up sitting on the patio just listening to the stillness, watching the changing view, and remembering how much I love this kind of weather (partly because it reminds me of foggy San Francisco).
I also found myself humming the beautiful song, “Mist,” by Swami Kriyananda (from the Mystic Harp CD). It was the perfect soundtrack to my afternoon.
San Francisco has been on my mind so much these days that I figured I might as well wrap up the week by reflecting on one more thing I loved about living there.
Fog.
Yep. People complain and complain about the fog, but I loved it.
Well, I loved it 90% of the time. At least once every summer we would get a solid three weeks of fog and that really was a bit much.
But the rest of the time you simply never knew, from moment to moment, what you were going to get — you could look out the window at the most gorgeous day, decide to finish your half-hour project and then go enjoy the sunshine, only to look up after twenty minutes and it’s nothing but fog everywhere.
Of course the reverse was also true. You would bundle up and resign yourself to a chilly excursion in the park, only to find the sun burning through the fog twenty minutes later.
And the cool temperatures of foggy days were the best for long walks all over the City.
But some of my favorite fog experiences came when I would spend time in the hot summer temperatures of the South Bay (Milpitas, San Jose, Los Altos, etc.), then drive up Hwy 280 to return to the City.
At a certain point the air itself would dramatically change, getting cooler and smelling of moisture. Then you would look left (or west) and see the fog literally pouring over the coastal mountains. Absolute magic that I never tired of seeing.
And now, all this thinking about fog made me so homesick for the entire San Francisco experience that I had to go find a video of foghorns.
Photo of fog rolling through San Francisco’s Golden Gate
We packed up and left Santa Barbara fairly early, so I didn’t have time to take pictures. But I deeply appreciated Santa Barbara’s parting gift of FOG!
I especially enjoying heading inland and looking back over the completely socked-in coast, while ahead of us were patches of blue as the sun came breaking through. That was my daily reality for decades in San Francisco and it was like a piece of my heart went, “Ahh…that’s what I’ve been missing!”
So, now we’re home; very happy we went and even happier to be back.
John Roedel‘s heartful sharing and poem from yesterday took me back to one of the “dark night of the soul” moments in my own life.
It was the mid-nineties. I was in San Francisco, living what I had thought was my “best life”, except that my supposedly wonderful life had started disintegrating around me over the previous year or so.
My marriage had ended and I was increasingly discontented with other areas of my life as well, but hadn’t a clue what to do about it all.
This particular night I must have done my usual routine of getting home late from a gig, having a snack and some wine, then watching something on TV to relax. As often happened, as one show ended I would start another…and another. Until it was the wee hours of the morning with absolutely nothing worth watching, but there I continued to sit — in my frustration and my (divine) discontent.
Which then led to feeling depressed and finally to despair.
What was I doing with my life? Why did I feel so horrible? What was wrong with me? I was trying to grow spiritually, so why was I feeling worse and worse?
Soon I was drowning in sadness and guilt and doubts, feeling unworthy and powerless and helpless. But then I started to hear birds chirping and realized that it was almost dawn.
I no longer remember what prompted me, but somehow I decided to drive up to Twin Peaks and watch the sunrise. Of course, it must have been my inner guidance, because as I reached the top of the hill I found it shrouded in fog, which started to make me that much more depressed!
But then the “aha” moment struck like a flash of lightning! The sun was still there despite the fog. In fact, it was already starting to burn through the fog, allowing the occasional beam of sunlight to peek through.
And I suddenly understood something new (to me) about faith and God. That even when everything seems the darkest and I’m filled with despair, God is still absolutely and entirely present.
Even when I can’t see Him.
This lifted a big weight off my spirit. I didn’t write a poem, and whatever journaling I did is long lost, but it truly was my own “song of sunrise” experience.
