Walking the Path. . .

. . . or not walking the path which is what i am doing right now. Last fall my shins began screaming at me; well, actually I know they spoke up before that but I was being vigilant in walking my dog and me, so I kept on going up and then down the very steep hills in our mountain neighborhood. Walking provides me time and space to process and refresh. Being in nature, moving in nature makes me feel more connected and at peace. In late October I took my last long walks down the terminals at the Charlotte and Sarasota airports. By the time I got to my parents' home I could hardly be civil without crying in pain.

So I stopped walking. I told Mom I thought I would rest for the weekend. Now it has been nearly four months of watching others walk their dogs as I sit with my legs up. I walk as little as possible, go to physical therapy and pray that one day i can walk and play with everyone else. In the meantime, I notice what needs to be done in my house and garden, read and work on my computer.  I don't feel very productive but remind myself that the hosta is not always producing either.

I wonder about walking the path when you can't walk.  I know I am still on it. I sure am still. The way is being opened ahead of me.  I sit and listen. Not much chatter from the Universe. I pray for our daughter-in-law who at 33 has been diagnosed with breast cancer. And for our son. I send as much love as I can to a very pregnant friend who realizes her life is about to change forever and wonders how she can be the mother her daughters need.  I celebrate the life of a musician friend who continues, despite all odds, to rally heroically to play music one more time for those who love him as the cancer invades. On and on we all walk even though the walking is painful, slow, awkward and long, or short.

So I walk in my mind along the gravel road, down the rhododendron path, across the mossy rocks and watch for deer. I ask for patience and wisdom. I remember what matters most to me and make efforts to be whole-hearted about family, friendships and my spiritual growth. I feel pretty clumsy, awkward and off balance. Is it any wonder, I think, given that my world has been thrown off by these struggles and others around me right now.   I remember this poem and hunt it down. . . and feel grounded.

            Lost

Stand still.

The trees ahead and bushes beside you

Are not lost.

Wherever you are is called here

And you must treat it

As a powerful stranger,

Must ask permission to know it

And be known.

Listen: The forest breathes,

It whispers,

“I have made this place around you,

If you leave it you may come back again

Saying, Here.

No two trees are the same to raven,

No two branches are the same to wren –

If what a tree or a branch does is lost on you

Then you are surely lost.

Stand still.

The forest knows where you are.

You must let it find you.

                                    ~ Translated by David Wagoner from

                                        a Northwest Indian Teaching Tale