My Roots are Showing

(And I don’t mean needing an appointment at my salon. )

One of my favourite places is a little bay on the mighty Lake Superior, Canada. It’s called Katherine Cove. I’ve yet to learn why this special spot is named such, though there must be a certain memorable Katherine whom it memorializes.

It is located in Lake Superior Provincial Park and so it is cared for as a picnic site. I love stopping there whenever I’m driving north of Superior and not just to avail myself of a fairly clean pit toilet.

It is a well sheltered bay of shallow water on the largest freshwater lake in the world. Here the water temperature can warm slightly for a short time to the advantage of swimmers. But it is the bedrock promontory which fascinates me. My children have scrambled over it many times learning quickly where to step on dry patches so they don’t slip or fall into the cold. It’s fascinating and fun.

The striations on the bedrock are multitude; colourful stripes and curves speaking of ancient formation and perhaps the Big Bang.

Puddles gather to expose tiny water creatures and the true colour of the stones.

Waves lap creating slippery footing.

Strolling over that promontory which leads welcomingly out into the lake I eyed some roots along the rocks. There isn’t what one might call a formal path; more of little routes folks have carved out from the parking lot through the small patch of trees to the water’s edge.

These roots are well trodden, greyed, frayed and appear dead. One wonders if there is any life flowing through them at all, the bark long disappeared; yet their tenacity shows through. I have walked this way many times yet they spoke to me in a new way and this writing emerged.

My Roots are Showing (and I Don’t Mean on my Head)
(for Jan)

It’s a well-worn way
not exactly a path,
just an earthy spot
between bedrock outcrops.

Roots on a well-worn way
traversed by millions
of souls before me.

Roots are showing
bark long gone
my bark
my defensiveness
my abrasiveness
long gone,
worn down
worn out
by ancestral traffic
by my seeking.

My roots are showing.

Roots
once deep
and life-giving
now
grey,
frayed,
barkless,
twisted,
broken.

Once life-giving
they no longer
support me,
no longer
nourish
like once they could
and did.

My roots are showing.
Full exposure.

Bedrock peeks through
the pattern
of what resembles
twigs.

It’s a shambles
a mishmash
a mess
a quandary
a tangle.

Folks keep wearing them down.
Me too.
It takes millions of footsteps
to wear roots down,
roots that aren’t protected
by warm, nurturing soil
or compost.

Exposure.
Full exposure,
full vulnerability,
full authenticity.

Once life-giving
my roots
no longer
sustain,
no longer
nourish
and quench.

I send out tendrils
seeking warmth,
fresh environments,
fresh thinking,
to nurse my growth.

Finished I am not.
I am not fully grown.
I seek support
to strengthen
and sustain,
not just maintain.
I want to grow
to flourish
to thrive.

My roots are showing.

See their nakedness,
their want,
their inadequacies,
their limits,
their borders,
and barriers.

Hundreds of years ago
perhaps they were covered
with protection,
the soil of
sacred buildings
sacred scriptures
sacred song
the well-worn way.

My roots are showing
on the bedrock,
right on the water’s edge
of the largest
freshwater Source.

I let the cove
of love
protect me,
vastness
and
plenty
abound.

Exposure.
Full exposure,
full vulnerability,
full authenticity.

The nourishment,
abundant,
free,
beckoning.

I step,
feet sure
and
dive
in.

I drink
I bathe
I’m baptized.

There is a cloud,
many witnesses.
I am not alone.

Exposure.
Full exposure,
full vulnerability,
full authenticity.

From this rock I will build…*

* “And Jesus said…..You are the rock and on this rock I will build my congregation, and the powers of death will not prevail against it .” Matthew 16:18 (my paraphrase)