Philosophy of the Fly: The Gift

From the moment our heart beats, to the second that we depart from this life into the unknown, we are given a gift. It’s hard for man to comprehend how something so complex can be so simple and that our divine origin can seem so meaningless as the grains of sand seem to drop so slowly in front of us as we seek meaning in times of idleness. Some say that this gift is unwanted. They are thrown into the turbulence and never seem to find the calm. Their hearts beat without passion and they become blinded by the false illusions that drape over the stage of a mundane life. Material possessions fill their lives as they can only take part in the present world that surrounds them. They fail to see the beauty in everything that surrounds them, never fully understanding the brilliance of their own existence. The tiniest movement that the human body makes while conscious in the physical world is a divine miracle and one should never waste the opportunity to live in the most peaceful time in the history of mankind.

            By the grace of God, I was given a gift. The gift to see deeper meaning into my sometimes seemingly routine life and see the light that shines within the mysterious pain that shrouds a lifetime of living.  Into the new I emerged, a son that carried on my father’s pride. But nature desires balance and it will stop at nothing till it sits comfortably once it is disturbed. My father gave me the gift of life, but soon after my arrival, nature demanded balance and my father was asked to return to his beginning. A selfless man, my grandfather, moved north and stepped into the role my father left waiting for him. As I began to experience the world, the void that nature caused was perplexing. The most important figure a boy can have is his father, although my Grandfather acted as a surrogate, his wisdom could only reach so far. The insecurities and anxieties of a lonely child living in a busy city seemed to become overbearing at times. Looking for answers, I turned back to nature as an eager child. The root of my pain came back again to heal a wound that nature had inflicted upon me. Traveling into the woods and streams, I began to conquer the cyclical negativity that plagued my young mind. Soon my naïve eyes began to see the perfect imperfections that fill our lives. My grandfather saw my passion emerging while I was young boy and realized the impact that the outdoors was providing me. Unfortunately, he grew up in tough times where money was saved instead of spent adventuring. His knowledge of fishing and hunting was the bare minimum. He devoted his life to giving me the opportunities to live in the wonderful outside world that I yearned for. I would spend hours in the woods and in the water, investigating and studying every creation that crawled passed my feet. I craved to know more about how everything came to be and how it all fit together.

     As time moved foreword, my innocence began to weather and my metal began to rust. I was forced to leave the woods, my home, and embark upon the social construct we know as society. Nature speaks no words, everything that happens has a reason and life is fluid outside of man’s grasp. In society, Man speaks many words that destroy and poison those around them without meaning. The adjustment to the world that I had to integrate with was harsh and brash. Confusion filled my mind and my bond with my grandfather became weaker as I pursued the life of an average teenage boy. Life became less clear and I could not always see the light engulfed within the darkness.

Years passed by without effort and as I lived within the moment. Lessons I had learned in nature had faded and the shine of the material world had tightened down around my mind. Like many fools blinded by the flash of everything new, I forgot that life must always come to an end. My grandfather became sick in his old age. Time slipped by just as quickly as his fingers fell from mine as he breathed his final breath. The image of a man so full of life and happiness, shaking in fear of the unknown, as I, still not yet a man, held his hand. This event  has been burned into my mind for good reason. As he drifted off into his deepest slumber, the stillness of the moment awoke a sleeping presence that had lay dormant deep in the depths of my mind. A voice cried out in the wilderness and I was finally ready to answer it's haunting call.

            In my grandfather’s last few months, his memory began to deteriorate and emotions were stripped from him as the chemicals broke down his body. Conversations were hard to come by and his physical pain became emotional pain that hardened my heart. Yet in his pain, the one memory that reinvigorated him, was the when he took me to meet a fly fishing instructor one fall day when I was a small boy. Fly-fishing to a ten year old, seemed complex and frustrating. The passion for this art never blossomed for me like he had hoped. In those painful days, my grandfather recollected that memory and urged me to try my hand at this mysterious sport. He saw something deeper that I could not yet see.

            Days after his passing, the words he spoke urging me to find a passion in fly fishing danced in my mind. Everything was cold the day I went into the store to buy my first fly rod. The air, the ground, and my heart felt the painful touch of the bitterness that accompanies a dreary January day. Little did I know, I would walk out of that department store with not only a fly fishing rod, but also a new perspective on life that would bring warmth to my coldest January days, quite simply, a gift.

That first cast into the water overtook me. My inner being submerged like the fly I had cast and it was stripped out of the ice-cold water and born once again. My soul would slowly begin to heal and return to its innocence and appreciation of being, even though I was not aware at the time of my awakening. The part of me that was lost the day I said “goodbye” to my Grandfather began to fill quickly with a new love but like every new undertaking, frustration is the demise of any aspiration a man has when confidence is absent. I’d spend my first year, casting. Trying to develop and understand abstract concepts, which lay the fundamentals of the fly. Fishless days would hinder my progress, but the life that surrounded me while on the water, slowly repaired the broken pieces of my being. I would flip rocks in streams with youthful enthusiasm to learn of the secret life that lay hidden beneath the surging surface. All of the creatures around me painted my imagination and I slowly learned more about the hidden lessons in life: Patience.Persitance.Timing.Empathy.Respect.Love .

            It became clear to me that nature could teach a man much more about himself if he would let it. Before I began fly-fishing, I viewed the trout as an inferior life form compared to myself. We may be composed of the same organic material, but our evolutionary paths brought us to different levels of consciousness. This concept changed when my casts no longer could simply be defined by science. 

The cast became my art, outward expressions of the connection of the soul to the rod. Loops cannot collapse when the fisherman exists all the way to the fly he throws. The word “sport” faded into “art” and the fly I presented to the trout with the fullest ability became a “gift”. This gift once again provides meaning to a mysterious life. Every organism is meant to survive and reproduce, a paradoxical waste of existence. The gift we give to other life around us gives meaning, which creates passion, and then finally love.

As a dry fly drifts passed a trout’s nose and the anglers fly fools the trout, both events cause an unexpected event in both creatures’ monotonous lives. For a brief moment in time, a spiritual connection occurs that links the two together creating something deeper that changes the man and fish. The conscious of the two transcends one another, and for a brief second, the imbalance in nature is balanced. The man stands in water and the trout is held in the air, the ying and yang of this moment spins in harmonious accord before the two embark from one another. The angler respects his equal and releases the fish to swim back to nature, so the trout can provide the fisherman with future generations. The wild fish transforms into shades of beautiful colors as it spawns, producing a miracle in God’s eyes. Years later, the man returns to the same water, this time with a new gift, he hands the child the weathered rod and the child casts…

            It’s hard to imagine that almost four years have passed since I received this gift. I’ve spent thousands of hours on beautiful water and I’ve been able to squeeze in a decades of experience and knowledge in my short time fly-fishing. My Grandfather kept giving and I finally took notice after it was too late. He gave me a gift that gave me a beautiful perspective on life. The meaning I found within this amazing lifestyle is that no river is too far. Every new inch of water explored is one more opportunity to connect with the future children that I pray I someday have. To give them a gift and remain here with them as they seek my guidance in this wonderful story. And finally, to give back to my Grandfather and Father, a gift that gave them meaning.

 Purpose is all around you in life, take advantage of the living world and the opportunities it presents to you, as your brightest days will awaken from the darkest hours.