The exercise:
On Saturday we did a walking meditation on the grounds of Stanley Park in the area around our workshop. We walked slowly, we stopped often, we engaged our five senses and took everything in. The list of things I observed after only thirty minutes will give me writing ideas for weeks to come.
So go for a slow walk and find some tiny detail that sparks your imagination.
Mine:
The bark of this tree
Has seen more than me.
I reach out to taste
Slowly, without haste,
The wisdom it holds,
Stories it has told.
My fingers can hear
The voice of the years,
The wind against leaves,
The webs being weaved.
I do not see why
This tree cannot fly;
People of this earth
Would learn from his mirth
The richness of peace,
The joy of release.
Each year the same pain
Of loss, wind and rain;
Each year the same joy
Of sun and young boys.
The bark of this tree
Knows much more than me.
Walking
ReplyDeleteThe path lies in wait. It girts the lake, shaded sporadically with trees and always, always subject to a sea breeze. It’s amazing what you see out there...
There’s the woman walking with her small dog. Luckily for the runners it is leashed, as it should be. She stoops to pick up after the mutt. Who really rules the world?
There’s the old couple. They come here everyday. She’s a little overweight, her pace is slow but steady. He is thin, his pace dictated by his advanced age. There’s no hurrying this lot.
There’s a runner. Well, he’s not walking. He’s advanced beyond it. He’s dressed in designer gear, but he probably has a right to be. He’s in training, no doubt. He carries his iPod on his arm; it records his progress. He graphs it at home on the ’net. Clever technology.
There’s the school boy. He’s riding his bike; it’s a shared path. He’s going a little fast and doesn’t really look where he’s headed. He weaves around the group of mums and bubs, it’s their regular route.
There’s the lady who just started her fitness program. She has a way to go as she puffs and pants along, carrying her phone and water bottle, but she’ll get there.
Along the path there’s plenty to see. The lake is big. There’s one couple that kayak every morning, but you have to be out early to see them. They’re dedicated, they are. It’s a nice shared experience.
Then in summer you’ll see the Hobiecats. You can’t miss ’em, their sails are rainbow coloured.
There’s a paddleboarder beginning her morning training. She makes it look easy, soothing, almost, as she pushes the paddle either side of the surf board.
If the lake were bigger you’d see windsurfers, I’m sure, but it isn’t. They’re at the beach; it’s a seaside activity.
In summer the lake wafts with breezes that whip up into waves on the lake. In winter it is quieter. The morning’s smoothness creates a mirror that, when you photograph it and turn it upside down, you don’t know which way is up. In storm season the lake gets angry. Her waves show whitecaps that befit an ocean swell. The wind roars across her surface, scooping up spray that locks onto your windows. You’d better have closed them! And don’t get caught out there, then, it ain’t a pleasant thing!
Walking isn’t just walking. It’s observing, thinking and not-thinking. Although it’s doing, it’s also being, being in your own space that you carry with you. It’s a natural thing to do, good for the body, comforting for the mind, soothing to the soul. Walking.