Early morning on the shore of a lake is one of my favorite times of day. Gray dawn, pale light, silver and sable water. Shrouding mist and the haunting call of a loon.

Simplicity, peacefulness and clarity.

I've had too little of those things in my life. Especially recently.

Let's try complexity, frenzy and opacity.

I've always thought I knew myself well. To a certain extent I do, but I've just come to realize I define myself by what I do.

If I stop being "Detective James Ellison", who would I be?

I need to find out. That's why I'm here, alone, at Stephen's cabin on Lake Echo, with no one else within 50 miles. A perfect spot for a man with sentinel senses. Cleansing, really. No distractions.

I slept for an entire day when I got up here. I haven't rested like that in months. I'd say I should have done this sooner, but I don't think I was ready for it. Strange how we can deny our minds and bodies what they need. Spiritual
starvation. Suicide of the spirit. At one time I would have denied that, but not anymore.

I stand here reveling in my senses. There is nothing here to abrade my nerves or cause me pain. I can feel the sunrise on my face, the caressing wind in my hair. I can hear the water lapping on the shore - from across the lake. On
this side the susurration of the retreating water is gentler because of the sand. Over there it slaps against the boulders a glacier left behind long ago. Not too far away a raccoon, out late, is washing a meal before he eats. I can
see each irridescent feather on the loon just beyond the dock. Do names exist for the variations in color I can distinguish? At this time and in this place my senses are a blessing.

I am not an introspective man. Truly.

Simon looked at me when I asked for personal time as if he wanted to tell me something he knew I wouldn't want to hear. I'm fairly certain he wanted to deny my request . He approved it, though. Maybe he flashed back to the Switchman case. Four years. Four years.

The sun is warmer now. The railing beneath my hands is beginning to absorb and store some of its heat. I can feel each small increase in temperature.The warmth is relaxing. My muscles, even my bones, feel relaxed today. It's been a long time since I've felt like this.

Back when I was in the service, a Ranger, we'd sense when a situation was building up. Our senses would become more acute, our bodies energized. The longer we had to wait before we got our orders, the tenser we got. Some of us
became explosive. Then, the night or day before a mission, all of that would seem to dissipate. We'd relax. The energy was still there, though, just "on call". Our bodies can be incredibly intelligent when we let them run on instinct.

Relying on instinct doesn't always work. We tend to corrupt our instincts, lose our judgment and our balance. Happens to all of us, the first time we get hurt. Physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually.

Body and mind, soul and spirit. Indivisibly intertwined. Ignore the needs of the one and cripple the others.

I've tended to live in my body and mind. I'm very good at it. I've had a very successful professional life by nurturing and listening to my mind and body. Oh, there have been some glitches, but whether or not my senses were "on line", my physical body has pretty much done what I needed it to do. And my mind - well, I had no problems academically.

So just how successful would I have been in life if I'd been firing on all four thrusters?

Probably not a fair question. Interesting, though.

I love the scent of pine. There's a beautiful stand of it just this side of the point. It's maybe, oh, three-fourths of a mile away. The warmth of the sun is heightening the smell of the grass and clover in the small meadow behind
the cabin. About five hundred feet to my left is a small grove of birch. The slight breeze from the lake shore causes them to flutter, sounding like small coins clinking together. Somewhere behind them pine siskins and finches are arguing amiably over something only a bird would understand.

Understanding. I'm up here to gain it. I won't leave without it. I don't think I can function without it anymore, and no one can give it to me. Understanding is something I have to find for myself.

I have never  before thought of myself as a man who runs from danger, or who acts impulsively. Actually, my reputation in school and the military was for cool analysis and logical thinking. My plans and orders were based on
extensive research and proven methods. My success rate was high. I've come to realize, though, that in my personal life I react instead of being proactive.

Someone I know once called that my "fear based response". I didn't understand that phrase at the time. I thought I knew what it meant. I think I'm beginning to, now.

Someone I know. Hunh.

Behind me in the kitchen the coffee-maker is beginning to drip. Stephen's cabin is fully wired and solar powered. Luxury and simplicity. Maybe I'll build up here, too. Stephen rarely comes here, but surely on 700 acres there
is room for us both. This land is ours, inherited from our mother. I am told she loved it. I wouldn't know.

Knowledge is the second thing I seek here. When I have gained it, gleaning it from the sources behind me, I will create the third thing. A plan of action. Now, however, I must seek its building blocks from the books and papers, tapes and discs I have gathered. My mother's diaries, her father's day books. My father's picture albums. Sandburg's dissertation, master's thesis, research. His personal journals. My exit interview from the service and my med file. My memories.

What do I hope to find? The truth of myself.

What to I hope to hear? The whispers of my heart.