DISTANCE HAZE by Jamil Nasir © 2000

The Lake was all little choppy waves that gurgled and splashed around him with cool innocence, but their surfaces were opaque, mirror- like, reflecting the grey-gold haze as if to hide something they were doing underneath. There was a sense of waiting, of temporary stasis, as if a storm, still unmanifest, were brewing somewhere, the atmosphere quietly gathering its moisture and energy. From where he floated fifty feet out in the water the bluff curved off, sand and clay, trees and boulders, bushes and flowers tiny in perspective, like an infinitely detailed model of the shores of paradise.

     Back at the house he showered. Perhaps the restlessness of the mirrored waves had gotten under his skin, but he felt like doing something. He worked on notes of his morning's interviews for awhile, but his mind kept wandering. The Blue Water Indians brochure Florisbund had given him caught his eye, and he glanced over it. One of the Points Of Interest listed was:

Shaman's Mound -- Located on a rise overlooking Lake Michigan, a sacred Blue Water site where tribal shamans received visions and revelations. It was believed that the spot had been discovered through divination and dowsing by ancestral shamans. The Mound is a landmark of great scenic beauty, serenity, and historic importance. It was purchased by the Deriwelle Preservation Foundation in 1992, and is open to the public.

     A map showed that Shaman's Mound was no more than five miles north of West Road.

     Research for the book; local color. Wayne got in the Honda and headed up the county highway.

     He almost missed the dirt clearing on the left-hand side, creosoted logs laid at the ends to mark parking spaces. A small brown sign said: "Shaman's Mound." There were no houses in sight, just tall forest on both sides of the road. Wayne parked in the clearing and turned off the engine. The sound of a car on the highway increased gradually until it shot by, raising a faint dust in the hot, hazy sunlight; after it had gone the afternoon was very quiet.

     There was a dirt path. Wayne followed it.

     The path was humped with tree-roots; the remains of a rusty barbed-wire fence ran alongside. In a gap between the trees a bar of sunlight fell blinding across the dirt, illuminating an old dump: the brown, disintegrated remains of a water-tank, an ancient refrigerator, a defunct washer and dryer leaning crazily in the rubbish, old tires, what looked like ancient pieces of farm machinery, a frayed tennis-shoe, all overgrown and decayed, looking as much part of the natural world now as the rocks and bushes. There was a buzz of insects from the undergrowth.

     The path started to climb steeply. Wayne's footsteps and breathing were muffled under tree-branches that hung thick and low. Finally the light brightened, and he stepped out onto a high bluff overlooking the Lake.

     It was a dozen-foot-wide ledge, part grassy, part grey boulders jutting from the side of the hill over thick forest that fell steeply to the water a hundred and fifty feet below. From up here the distance haze was whitish-grey, the Lake sparkling grey-gold; below him was the deep green of trees. A gentle breeze stirred his hair. The calls of bird and buzzing of insects were serene, unhurried.

     One of the boulders was shaped like a natural seat. Wayne sat on it. The feel of the warm, massive, ancient rock against his back was stilling, soothing. He leaned back and studied the view. The Blue Water shamans had known what they were doing making this their power spot, he thought. The quietness of it entered his flesh and bones; tension and anxiety flowed out of him. He could feel himself relaxing, as if for the first time in years. How had his life gotten so complicated? He listened to the distant, wide sound of surf, felt a stray breeze against his face. And what were the answers to those questions that had been in temporary storage in the back of his mind for so long? The last time he had really thought about them was when he was a teenager, he realized with surprise. He had been waiting to get his balance, make his way back through the labyrinthine complexities of life to a place where he could consider them again, but it had taken so long that he had forgotten he was trying to get back, and then things had gotten more complicated instead of less, until -- But now suddenly here he was, back at square one again, and all because he had come out to this beautiful part of the Earth, and right out to this warm stone seat above Lake Michigan where it was quiet enough to think, finally. A deep thankfulness came over him, as well as a shudder at the realization that he might never have come here at all. As he relaxed even more he felt sleepy, as if an old sleep deficit masked by artificial stimulants like worry and work and complexity had just now been uncovered. He closed his eyes.

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