Kilroy Was Here, Briefly

A little crack in the cliffs along the Maine coast where, every August, someone constructs a cairn.

There is a little crack in the cliffs along the Maine coast where, every August, someone constructs a cairn. I don’t know who the mystery architect is, but whoever it is starts a trend. During the remaining weeks of summer, large and small cairns appear on the beach and even on ledges of the rocky outcropping on either side of the small beach. I know there are multiple builders involved, because I have been one of them on occasion. So have members of my family.

I have always loved rocks. I have collected them all my life, although recently I have tried to restrain myself, because who on earth is going to want my rock collection when I shuffle off this mortal coil? Maybe that’s one reason why I am drawn to cairns: You construct them on site, and you cannot bring them home in your pocket.

People have been balancing stone on stone all over the world for centuries. Large cairns have been used for burials. Cairns mark boundaries and sacred sites, identify pathways on land, and even serve as navigational aids along waterways. So, there can be some practical purpose for creating one. But most of the cairns I have seen do not seem to serve any particular practical purpose. Instead, they seem to represent something private: an engineering challenge, a meditative moment, or a marker of one’s passage through life. There seems to be something in the human psyche that aches to leave a trace, to provide some material evidence of one’s passage through life. Cairns are a kind of “Kilroy was here” message, only anonymous in their presentation.

For me, there is something so meditative, so calming about laying rock on rock, stone on stone. Finding balance. Discovering equilibrium. And, if I have the opportunity to do that with the ocean waves singing to me and the salty wind blowing through my hair, that’s even better. Such a simple way to nourish my soul. In fact, constructing cairns is a spiritual practice in Zen Buddhism.

“A Zen cairn is a simple yet powerful symbol. It consists of a stack of rocks or stones, each representing an essential aspect of life. These rocks are carefully balanced, symbolizing the delicate harmony needed to maintain equilibrium in our lives. The Zen cairn has roots in ancient cultures and is often found along hiking trails or spiritual sites, serving as a guidepost for travelers on their journey.” Finding Your Balance with Zen Cairn: The Art and Symbolism that Inspires Mindfulness - Balance (buddhagroove.com)

It’s not surprising to me that the first cairn to appear on that rocky Maine beach is answered with the construction of another, then another. Pausing to find just the right stones and just the right spot to build can bring some moments of peace in a harried world. So that first cairn on the beach is a kind of invitation and reminder to take some moments to nurture one’s inner life. Naturally people answer in kind.

Over the course of my lifetime, I have noticed an explosion of cairn constructions. Cairns have become so ubiquitous that people are now cautioned not to build them — especially in wildlife preserves and parks that ask us to “leave no trace.” In addition to changing the landscape by adding a human construction, building a cairn may confuse others who rely on official cairns that have been set out as navigational tools. Then there is the issue of disturbing whatever living creatures may live around and under the rocks. Please don't stack rocks on your next hike. Here's why. - Lonely Planet

I honor that. At the same time, I think there are places where constructing cairns is perfectly acceptable. I could be wrong, of course. But here’s what I am thinking about that little Maine beach. A cairn built there will not disturb anyone’s navigation. In addition, the stones on that beach are constantly being moved and shifted when the waves roll in during wild storms. My guess is that most people who build cairns do so with the idea that they will last. But every time I have constructed a cairn on that particular beach, I have done so with the sure knowledge that winter storms will come and wash it away. If you visit that spot in the spring, you can see the wreckage of the previous summer’s cairns that the ocean has left in its wake. Kilroy was here, briefly. Maybe this is just me, justifying my cairn building proclivities. But I have discovered a powerful spiritual lesson in the process: Take time to meditate and build. And then, let it go. Yes, I am here. But briefly.

Love,

Sylvia