It was cold.

And windy.

We found out later that all the other paddlers who had set out on Tomales Bay that morning with dreams of camping along her pristine shores had turned back. We were alone on the water. Hours later, when we finally made the beach, there was nobody else there.

We hoped for sun to dry our clothes. We hoped for warmth to heat the cramping from our hands. Just a ray or two was all we needed to boost our flagging morale, but none of it was to be had.

There were sixteen of us, ten men and six women, all novice paddlers excited about the prospect of kayaking and camping and getting out on the water at night to witness the bioluminescent phenomena that the bay is known for. And it’s safe to say that when we imagine and plan for such things, our minds are filled with sunshine and smiles, the wind in our hair as we glide through the water, the salty spray refreshing and welcome with each stroke of our paddle.

What we encountered instead was a damp and relentless gloom. The gusty breezes stole through our wet layers and robbed us of what little warmth we had. After nearly four hours in the water, when we raised our stiffened bodies to drag our kayaks onto the sand, it was only reasonable to question the whole of the endeavor.

Why were we here?

Why didn’t we turn back like the others?

Actions are according to intentions, and everyone will get what was intended.

Bukhari and Muslim

After struggling against the gales to pitch our tents and changing into dry clothing, we gathered in a circle to disclose our intentions. Some of us needed a break from the monotony of our routines. Some of us were interested in meeting new people. Some of us were keen to share a unique experience with others.

And some of us were not entirely sure why we were there.

The absence of intention creates vulnerabilities that can be easily exploited. Those of us gathered were all Muslims, people of supple intention, people who simultaneously plan and allow for the superseding of God’s Decree with an accommodating awareness that His Plan is always better.

The Wisdom of God’s Plan was hard to fully appreciate in the early evening chill, but for all of our difficulty and deflated expectation, there was amongst us a palpable resolve. Our faces were not grim. There was conversation and even laughter as we wrapped up our Circle of Intention and started our fire.

It’s something of a tradition to bring oysters whenever Dust and Tribe makes it out to Tomales Bay. Whether raw or grilled over a campfire, these succulent bivalves never disappoint.

We got to work shucking and lining up the open-faced shells on a piece of dry firewood. One of our campers placed a dollop of butter atop the tender flesh before moving the oyster into the coals. After a few minutes, the oysters were removed from the heat and treated to a twist of lemon and a dash of hot sauce. Warm, smokey, and tart with a finish of spiced brine, we could see our group coming back to life with each mouthful.

After dinner and prayers, we spent a bit more time around the fire before settling into our tents for the night. Perhaps tomorrow would bring us the sun.

We woke up to Boy Scouts instead.

Like the beaches of Normandy, we had been invaded by Troop 50. They were a cacophonous gaggle, laughing and teasing one another as they got their tents up all around us. They immediately broke into card games and all manner of play, with some in the water digging through the muck for clams, and others lolling about in the knee-high oatgrass.

Although still grey and overcast, the wind had calmed and these exuberant young people brought us a surge of infectious energy. We hiked the nearby bluff and foraged wild strawberries and young thistle stalks. We talked and got to know each other and whatever of the sun’s warmth we were denied, we found it still in the company of good people.

As the shadows grew long, we had a decision to make. The break in the wind and the new moon promising a dark sky made for excellent conditions to experience bioluminescence. But this meant getting back into our paddling clothes, still damp from the day before, and putting in after nightfall. It was discouraging to think about, but also our last opportunity to witness one of nature’s most brilliant displays.

In the end, we were split. Twelve of us would get on the water. The remaining four would manage the fire we hoped would be sufficient to warm us once back.

We paddled out, slow and easy on the light chop, the lapping tide moving us further and further away from camp.

At this point in our retelling, words and even pictures will fail us. There is no writer so able or camera so technically advanced as could capture and transmit what happened next.

It was gradual at first. As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, each dip of our paddle set off a few sparks. Those sparks became cascades of light and from all around you could hear the spontaneous, primal calls of wonder and delight as men and women dipped their hands into the electric mystery.

Here it was. Bioluminescence. The emission of light from single-celled dinoflagellates, a response, some surmise to changes in pressure. They are at the very beginning of the oceanic food chain, consumed by plankton that will in turn be consumed by still larger organisms. Scientists do not know if their light is a beacon, a warning, or something else entirely.

It doesn’t matter.

For the Muslim, it is experiential proof of the Divine Light within all creation.

Cold, wet, and exhausted, we had struggled against the tide for miles only the day before. With spirits on the verge of breaking, some of us did not dare to push ourselves any further. We wanted to remain dry and warm, to sit by the fire and to avoid any further harm or misery.

But there was fire on the water and a spiritual warmth suffused us all as we forgot the troubles that had brought us here. We huddled our kayaks together, absorbed in the magic around us. We talked about what we were seeing. We scooped the water into our hands and let it run back into the bay in a shower of stars.

And we prayed together before breaking the huddle and heading for camp.

We were gone for an hour and our companions on shore had kept the homefire stoked, a guiding light that brought us back into their righteous and blessed company. We dried ourselves and shared what we had seen.

The next morning broke warm and sunny, the brilliance of the day powering us back to our launch point. After dropping off our kayaks, we picked up some local buffalo gelato and sat in the grass to reflect on the weekend.

There is much more that could be said, but nothing greater that what has already been revealed:

God is the Light of the heavens and the earth; the likeness of His Light is as a niche wherein is a lamp (the lamp in a glass, the glass as it were a glittering star) kindled from a Blessed Tree, an olive that is neither of the East nor of the West whose oil wellnigh would shine, even if no fire touched it; Light upon Light; (God guides to His Light whom He will.) (And God strikes similitudes for men, and God has knowledge of everything.)

Q24:35

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