The hiss of the surf is muted, no birds cry. There is the feel of bare feet on wet sand and the slow accumulation of moisture in my hair and on my body. It's as if the fog is pushing back on my senses, nudging me to stay closer to my body.

From Walking In The Fog - Jim

It is a mental habit for many of us to believe that the circumstances we are surrounded by, and encounter throughout our day, in themselves hamper and hinder our progress in life. We imagine, If this that or the other thing were different, I'd be able to do this that and another thing! On one level that might be actually true. And, taking a deeper look, one might do well to question that mental habit, or background attitude. The way I see it, it's the habit that hinders. In other words it's the (erroneous) belief that things need to be, or have to be, a certain way in order to....(fill in the gap) that needs to be sat still with....

I've some writings by somebody who has encountered incredible difficulties on all levels. She could have crumbled under the pressure, she hasn't. I'll be publishing extracts from her writings over the next few days.
(October 1st update - I decided, on advice, to publish the writings as one post.)

There's a story that people around here tell about how the local airport was built during WW II to train American pilots how to land and take off in the fog in the event they had to fly out of England. The spot was picked because the fog was so dependable. I don't know if this story is true but it is true that the fog is dependable. It's also varied. If someone came up with words to describe the different kinds of fog - snaking along the ground, catching in trees, or standing as a wall - the North Coast would have as large a vocabulary for fog as the Inuit have for snow.

But walking along the surf's edge, none of this really makes any difference. The impact of such a shroud is so immediate that it requires no back-story. There is no horizon, visibility is reduced to less than 50 meters, and the gray-green color of fog and water mimic one another. The hiss of the surf is muted, no birds cry. There is the feel of bare feet on wet sand and the slow accumulation of moisture in my hair and on my body. It's as if the fog is pushing back on my senses, nudging me to stay closer to my body.

Suddenly there is an invitation to step away from this closing in: thoughts. Oh, how interesting and different from yesterday I wonder if the El Nino is having an effect on the amount of fog we're getting? I wonder..... but I step out of that thought stream and return to watching and stepping. Stepping and noticing. And then I notice that I have forgiven myself for something. Or maybe I've forgiven someone else for something. I don't think it matters. There's just the feeling of having put something down, of having a lighter load, of an unfurling of sorts. As my head goes back in a chuckle, I notice the strong glow of the sun above me. I stop and just gaze. The sun gently and firmly embeds a reflection of itself in my core. Any consideration of when the fog might burn off disappears.