The Buddha Rock
Back in high school a friend of mine, Tom, and I used to go to Franklin Park and hang out at a place we called “the Buddha Rock”. It’s an old bridge pylon that’s no longer connected to anything, but I imagine used to be a part of the railroad that ran through the area. Now it’s just a massive slab of concrete sitting in a secluded part of the park, just inside of White Lick Creek. It had it’s name long before I started going there, and today it finally made sense to me. I thought they always called it that because it was a place where people would light up. Today, however, I came to realize that it was a place of zen when I rode my bike down to the park and sat on the rock reading a book. It’s just secluded enough to provide isolation from the modern world. Outside of the fact it’s an enormous slab of concrete, and excluding a nearby bridge and fence, it’s pretty much in nature without interruption. The creek flowing around it also cancels out the noise from the town, so there’s no constant drum of traffic. The only noises were the stream and the steady resonant sound of a baseball being hit by an aluminum bat. That’s where I sat until I finished reading “A horse and his boy” before packing up and heading home.
The experience was nostalgic, and my senses were overwhelmed by memories that each of them contained. The air today had a certain smell to it that comes with the onset of late summer and early fall. It’s the smell of the new school year; only, this year, I’m not going back to school. It’s a little hard to grow up and realize that there’s no going back. No matter how sweet that smell is to my soul, it ends a little depressing. Then there was the cool, crisp breeze that says harvest season is just around the corner. Pretty soon scarves will be out, and bonfires will be lit. Those things will go with me to the grave, undoubtedly. I’ve always enjoyed the feel of the fall breeze. It’s a reprieve from the oppressive late summer heat, and it’s much more comfortable than the often intolerably cold Indiana winters. It never lasts long, so I try to enjoy it as much as possible (a primary reason for my journey today). There’s also a crazy phenomenon I’ve noticed ever since I was little: the fall sky is much bluer than any other season. Winter here tends to be gray and orange, the spring is often cloudy, and summer is so hazy it’s hard to tell whether it’s sunny or overcast. Fall, however, brings out the most brilliant blue sky and every year I stand in wonder of how it could exist otherwise. Today was one of those rare days, and I couldn’t help but stare at it. You can also tell when fall is coming because the insect noise starts to die away and is replaced by rustling leaves in the cool breeze. It was no exception today. The last sensation has yet to be fully addressed, and it won’t be today, but taste is another brilliant part of the oncoming season. Who can deny that the fall spices are the best? (probably a lot of people, but keep your opinions to yourselves! This is my journey down memory lane!) Soccer season was always made better with hot chocolate and apple cider, and then there is the smell of newly harvested hay and corn, and of course there are amazing things like pumpkin pie and cinnamon which make it all the better.
With all of that, I welcome the fall and hope that I can make the most of it. It’s a bit what I imagine Heaven to be, in all honesty. It’s a time for homecoming, for family, for coming together with friends, and for new beginnings. It’s a time to celebrate (the most holiday-filled season of the year!) and to enjoy nature without having to worry about the quality of the air or whether or not it’s going to rain all week (unless, of course, your on the southeast coast…) I pray that whomever reads this can enjoy their fall and can make the most of it. It only comes once a year, and you only get so many of those.
