Nights

In every moment there are two paths to consider, and the consequence of your choice is never more blatant than when everything around you and inside you has been quieted.

theoriginalexistence.com

My imagination was always where I felt most at home and most authentic. As a child I would prop myself on pillows and get lost in a book for days; other times I would sit cross legged on the floor with a college-ruled notebook and a pencil, one idea after another becoming satisfied as sparks of creativity came to me and flowed. As more stories manifested into accomplishments a trust was nurtured to follow my instinct to get out the paper and pencil and allow the fictional fantasies to travel from my open mind onto the pages. I read completed works over and over again, seeing myself in the story and feeling gratified with what had unfolded. It was amazing to witness the intangible materialize; once only a thought, now in my hands.

Reading was the only thing I could think of that might do it again, might give me another moment of understanding, of learning, of interest in something that was meaningful, larger than my life and comforting. A friend recommended I read “The Four Agreements” by Don Miguel Ruiz and although I found it fascinating, I was less than halfway through it when my eagerness to learn more superseded my desire to complete it. In reading Ruiz’ teachings my interest had been piqued and I craved more insight into what the author had eluded to, of nature and matter, of energy and of how everything is connected. I purchased a book on Buddhism, and here again I was astounded at how profound and sensible the teachings were, yet I could only read a few chapters before my need to understand demanded an action by me to go beyond the pages of the book.

Something was awakening in me that was so familiar, but with my head down in a book my ability to transmute the meaning was limited to the cerebral and was therefore incomplete, and this limitation caused my desire to read to fade as quickly as it had begun. I had kindled an energy and once again, I needed to move to resolve it.

The driveway leading up to the cabin was very steep and during times of restlessness I would walk up and down the black tar until I felt distracted enough by the exertion that my focus remained on that for a while instead. At the bottom of the driveway there was a flat paved area with 3 other roads attached to it; one directly across that led to another house, another to the right that led steeply down to the dock, and the final one to the left that led to the main road. It was within this meeting space that I felt a sense of connection and serenity as the intimidating nature of the night sky was softened by the hundreds of treetops that lined its periphery.

During evening walks after multiple trips had been completed I would wait for my body to alert me as to when I had arrived at the bottom of the driveway for the final time. I made it a habit to take advantage of the moment by sitting down at the base of the steep slant, cautiously lying back onto the pavement and allowing myself to rest. Palms down, my hands would spread out on a mission, always sensing the pavement, usually damp by this time, touching to feel. My fingers would trail the surface in search of anything organic- fallen leaves, acorn hulls or little twigs, and as I came across the little fallen things I appreciated each one for its texture and uniqueness before feeling for the next.

On the road at night my body was a part of everything that surrounded me. I felt the coolness and thickness of the air as I breathed in through my nose, down my throat, down into the bottom of my lungs. My ears relaxed and flowed as the sounds of the earth amplified. I traced the pattern of the wind as it met the resistance of the treetops and followed it as it flowed down through gaps in the canopy and interrupted the sleepiness of the woods. I sensed the smallest of movements on the forest floor. When I opened my eyes I found myself easily charmed by single leaves swinging at the tops of trees like little pendulums, and I smiled at them. The backdrop of stars seemed not much farther away, crisp and bright white. The passing by of immature clouds, the brightness of the moon. These were all mine in that moment, and there was nothing else.

The books, the words flowing, my voice, everything I had experienced in life. On the road at night when my body quit, the paths of the past and the future ceased to exist and I was nowhere but present. During these stillest moments of my life, the yield to a quiet mind gave my heart access to the spaces where my mind would have otherwise remained ceaseless. I began allowing myself to feel comfort in the experience of who I had always been, and as a result the person that was never me to begin with ceased the ability to maintain a space from which it could grow roots. I was not only beginning to understand where knowledge came from, I was able to feel it. Freedom, was inching closer.

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