LADY IN THE LAKE

I’ve attempted over the years to hone, hone, hone my craft as a wordsmithy.  One of the effective tools employed has been anthropomorphism.  Assigning human qualities to inhuman things.  I’ve received several inquiries about my musings on the former dojo.  Who?  When?  What!  Why?!?!

While Lake Zorinsky was named after former U.S. Senator Ed, there was definitely a distaff presence.  At once benevolent and maleficent, unpredictable (crazy?).  You’ve heard the tales of crazy.  But not always so.

She could lift your spirits by yielding undulating terrain to you, (but only if your beat was correct).  Pleasant surprises around each corner, woodland creatures great and small.  Birds and their songs filling the air and pines and cottonwood.  The frogs too in their own season, gleeful chirps of Spring signaling Morel season- The Good Mother’s bounty an easy harvest before the crushing, unknowing traipse of westward expansion, (ugh, white man! ) trod the delicacy out of its habitat.  Wild berries and plums too she provided.

And in the crook of her shoulder, my original meditation lodge.  Built shortly after moving here in 2001, its location and construction revealed to me during mid day nap high in a tree.  I awoke, studied the woods, reconciled and reconnoitered, located and placated.

Yes, there were comfortable, peaceful, even blissful times in her company.  She taught me the ways of East Central Nebraska.  Introduced me to seasons, each with gifts.

But a pall, a shadow, something dark and terrible resided beneath the glimmer and shimmer of seemingly peaceful waters.  Something not of this place.  The vibe seemingly taking a dreadful turn.  Unclean and from the East.  Prompting no less than a complete drainage of the 255 acre lake in 2011.

That is when the song turned to lament.  No longer easy and free, runs frequently bracketed by trepidation, nervousness, agitation, and dare I admit it, fear.  A single ugly whisper of “All Hell Is About To Break Loose” drowning out all that was previously beautiful.  The fell stench of the curse undeniable.

This then is how things turned.  My love for the dojo faded, eyes cast westward, out of the madding crowd, camelot telling my time there had passed.

But like all the best tales (B’rer Rabbit), this one has a happy ending.  The very demonic force that disrupted and drove me away, by either Twist of Fate or Grand Design,  placed me in the very best moment of my life.  Freely and easily enjoying a new mileau, sans hindrance, with birds and frogs and all living things once again in harmony.   And Linda.  So to the Lady In The Lake, Thank You, I would have none of this without you.

Can you dig it?