These thoughts have been simmering since autumn, when my husband and I spent a day in the nearby mountains. It grew into one of those perfect days...hills dressed in earth tones, sky the rich blue seen only at high altitudes, aspen giving us back the summer’s sun in each golden leaf.
We found our way to a stream in the National Forest and each moved off on our own to sit in silence. Well, we were silent, but the stream was loud and rushing, the birds singing and flitting, the leaves rustling.
Have you ever meditated next to a brook in autumn? I hope so. For me, I find my edges become less distinct outdoors, my small self more open to the life around me.
The road back down the mountain was rough, full of rocks and gullies carved by the last rainfall. We meandered our way, letting the road guide us. Straight lines between here and there were not to be had, and we didn’t even think to try to impose our will on this road that carried us. We reached our destination just fine under the road’s astute guidance.
Wouldn’t life be so much easier if I could do that always? Take guidance from the path, from the day. Trust the road. Oh, there’s a rock right smack in the middle of my planned route? Simply adjust, move a bit to the left instead. Why is it so easy to allow the road to guide me when coming off a mountain in autumn, and so difficult to flow with the particulars of my everyday world?
The good news is that I’ll have lots of opportunities to translate this wisdom into daily life. Each time I insist on forcing the road to conform to my expectations, I’ll arrive at my evening weary and worn, recognizing once more that there must be a better way. And each time I see the rocks in my path as simple suggestions for a more harmonious route, I’ll lie down to sleep that night with an innately reinforcing peace that promises continued good things for the morning.
May you welcome the guidance of your own rocks this day.
Namaste!
Loanne Marie
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