An late afternoon walk at Arapaho Bend Natural Area in 2017
SOMETIMES by David Whyte
Sometimes
if you move carefully
through the forest,
breathing
like the ones
in the old stories,
who could cross
a shimmering bed of leaves
without a sound,
you come to a place
whose only task
is to trouble you
with tiny
but frightening requests,
conceived out of nowhere
but in this place
beginning to lead everywhere.
Requests to stop what
you are doing right now,
and
to stop what you
are becoming
while you do it,
questions
that can make
or unmake
a life,
questions
that have patiently
waited for you,
questions
that have no right
to go away.
This is from yesterday afternoon on a walk at the Environmental Learning Center along the Poudre River. I go there for the quiet, probably not often enough. I found three young people who had strung hammocks among a grove of trees, were playing music and staring at their phones. We were not using the ELC I read earlier in the day that we do not seek silence as much as we are to be silence. I like that idea and will need to ponder that for awhile, in silence. You”ll find the reading below.
Storm clouds filled the sky to the south and west but no rain. Teh clouds and a cool breeze made it almost a perfect temperature. Loved the musty smell of the woods and all the birds singing. The Poudre River was full and running hard from the spring runoff. I was glad to see few mosquitos or flies.
“Perhaps for the first time we have a limited sense of what it means to be silence, instead of actively seeking or longing for the silence we think we lack and trying to make space for silence in our lives, as if this silence were not already silence but some sort of object to be sought and found.” Martin Laird
“In order to move forward, you will have to stumble along the way, but every falter in your stride just makes your next step even stronger.” ― Lindsay Chamberlin
I stumbled on one of my walks this past week. Of ocurse the first thing I did was check to see who saw me. Luckily, there were no witnesses. I then looked down to see what I’d tripped over but there was nothing. I literally stumbled over nothing. I just failed to properly place one foot in front of the other as I walked. And, no, I was not looking at my phone but my mind had fluttered off somewhere. I had moved away from being mindful and present to my walk. Nor, can I tell you where it fluttered. Happens more often than I want to admit.
Stumbling can unexpectedly bring us new discoveries, excitement, joys and lessons. And, sometimes stumbling can unexpectedly bring pain, sadness, regret and lessons. But, when we stumble and fall, it’s vital to get back up and dust off the pants, check for witnesses, take note of the reason we stumbled and hopefully learn from any lessons. Stumbling and falling are lessons.
Anyway, if the next time you stumble and there is a witness, give’em a smile and tell them you intended to do that. 🙂
There is a popular saying that the “destination is the journey.” However, most of us have some pre-visualization of a destination and not much of the journey. We’re focused on the dream home, the career, the perfect family, a life of travel, status, money, whatever it is. Then, after all the planning and starting out on the journey we find we are unable to see the destination. All we’re experiencing is the journey. We thought we know where we’re going, but this is not what we had in mind.
Well, we started out on the dirt path and before long we found a fork in the road. Where did this come from? It was not in our plans. We decide to go left. Before long we find ourselves on a rickety boardwalk surrounded by cattails rising above our heads. We begin to question our decision to go left. There is no destination be seen. We’re not sure about this boardwalk or where it’s leading us? Will we run out of boardwalk? Should we turn back?
But, you know what, we made the choice to make this journey so let’s see where it leads. We just might enjoy the journey more than we expected. After walking a short distance we begin to realize the cattails are providing shelter from the heat of the day. We notice the dragonflies zipping in an out of the cattails and a sunflower plant rising above the cattails. Even though we can’t see him, we hear a Red-winged blackbird singing somewhere among those cattails. He is soon joined by a chorus of croaking frogs. And, we imagine they are encouraging us to move onward. A spider scurries to get out of our way. We realize we are not alone on this journey. Before long the boardwalk makes a curve and we enter into an opening. A bench awaits us and the clouds join the setting sun to makes today a beautiful journey. As much as we plan, the journey may not be exactly as we planned or expected but we feel inside we’re on the right boardwalk. Wonder where the rest of the boardwalk goes? It does go right.
“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.”
C. S. Lewis
On March 10th I gave my two week notice at work. I’m hanging up my wings. Moving more into my retirement years. Going to avoid airports and airplanes while keeping my feet on the ground as I take my time driving, anywhere. I may never wear another tie for the rest of my life. I found my uniform pants kept shrinking due to decompression cycles or the altitude. No more checking for unbuckled seat belts, telling people to turn off their cellular service. No more telling them the cannot have that purse between their feet and properly stow their bags. I do not have to hear a passenger ask if I’ll call and see if the airlines will hold their plane for them because we’re late. No more crying babies during descent. It’s all good news.
But, just like any job loss there will be things I’ll miss. The unique life style of visiting cities, finding those mom-and-pop coffee shops and restaurants. Conversations with total strangers. A paycheck. And, last but not least, cleavage in 17C. On to new adventures.
I shall be telling this with a sigh, Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. – Robert Frost
