The Third Realm

Tired, but not as cold as I expected, I untether my dog and let him run into the waning light. All day, we abided by park rules and remained umbilical to one another, both of us in an uneven flow of starts and stops. His body could now move in its canine canon and I could stop, look, and wonder.

I turned my back to the setting sun so to see everything illuminated in short-lived gold. A tower of lilac cloud rose and dissipated over the meadow. The humpback of an Appalachian Mountain to the east turned over under its blanket of silhouette. Under almost any other angle of light, it bristles with trees, shines with granite. Sometimes I wish I could explain away the phenomena and wonders of what I see. I have always balanced on the broad plank between the realms of science and poetry. What I can't explain, I can describe. I can render and associate. I married a scientist and what I learn from him simply adds a color, texture, shape, angle, or movement to the kaleidoscope.

I started walking into the pale darkness of a game trail, following my dog. Overcome with how much I see but do not understand, I continued seeing anyway. I stopped in front of a wind-naked tree and we looked at each other. I did not know its name. Too tired to do the detective work of seeking out fallen leaves, I kept walking, following my dog's tail like a compass' needle. It was then that I realized the third plane beyond science and poetry. My dog turned around and looked at me, always embodying Whitman's I stop somewhere waiting for you. Beyond science and poetry is the third realm, joy. Joy is why I explore. Joy is why a rock is so mesmerizing. Joy is why I can travel without a human companion, endure elements, and brush off inconveniences. Joy is why I seek people who know more than I do. I may not be able to explain the world away. I may not be the best describer or renderer of phenomena. But I do live on the threshold of joy, forever fueled by curiosity.