“When we allow our souls to inhabit such places the world becomes too full to talk about and
we carry the silence home.”             

Silence, someone said, is the first language of God.

What I want to tell, I don’t have words to describe.  I wish I had a picture but it would not add much to convey my experience. As Richard Wagamese writes, it is one of those times when our soul inhabits the place that becomes “too full to talk about and so we carry the silence home.”  And I assure you, I have carried something forward from that day that I can’t name. 

On Valentine’s Day, I went for a sunrise paddle.  It was frosty when I left my house and indeed the sun was coming up.  There were four of us on our paddle boards that set out from Gonzales Bay heading out to Trial Island. Sometimes, it is necessary to go north along the west shore toward McNeil Bay to find safe crossing through the channel to make our way east, depending on the conditions. With it’s lighthouse, keepers’ residence and data collecting equipment, the main island is in full view once we leave the bay. 

The stillness of the morning was breathtaking, the sun making a golden path to follow across the glistening sea.  However, it was not a silent morning; the loud barking of California Sea Lions, up from the South for the food to be had this time of year, echoed across the water. They are all males as I understand, young and in a party mood it seems.  As we approached the gap between the largest and smaller of the islands, we didn’t go close to shore or stay long; the sea was also full with seals that regularly congregate here. 

Melissa and I were a bit behind the other two paddle boarders as we headed back to Gonzales Bay.  I heard a curious splash behind me.  Turning just enough, I caught a glimpse of maybe three seals following behind my board, not too close, but I sensed their presence.  Then we both noticed groups of 3-4 seals on either side of us as well.  “Maybe they are making sure we leave,” we laughed.  But when they kept following us, we kind of settled in to their presence thinking maybe they were an escort, accompanying us as we headed back.  

The seals followed us across the channel and all the way back to Gonzales Point, around which we would enter the Bay. As we approached that spot where we would  make our turn, the seals seemed to congregate on the open side of the bay and seemed to be waiting for us to make our way toward shore. I’ve physically described the scene but I cannot explain how those seals’ presence affected me and the experience has stayed with me.  

Having those seals so attentive to us and us to them, I feel that they honoured us with their presence as we honoured them. Perhaps they imagined us as a less-obtrusive and grateful visitor. Oddly enough, almost every time I’ve paddled since then I’ve met a seal swimming near me that seemed to greet me eye to eye.  I’m sure they’ve always been around me but I have something new to hold in wonder.

When we encounter life around us with an attentiveness that is more than we can see with our eyes, as Wagamese contends, “we confront a power that is beyond our ability to negotiate with, to control, to change, alter, or arrange to suit us.” The prayer I chose months ago to end my meditative time seems a fitting forerunner to the life giving force of places “too full to talk about.”