Thursday, August 26, 2010

Let It Go

Surprising how many times they have to tell me this. Even long after something feels settled there is often a point where I will want to pick it up and caress it again - even if the caressing hurts me. But I am learning.

Case in point - the medicine bag (for the story of this see the '3 Loop Day' blog piece). I hung this in April on a trail I use 3-4 times a week as a hiking meditation. Most days I just hike it without looking. I always remember that it is there. I just choose not to look for it as I walk. Sometimes it pulls me like a lodestone. Pulls me off the couch, into my shoes and onto the trail like a puppet. On those days I look. I never approach it or touch it. Just nod in awareness of its presence. If I were to touch it, I don't know what would happen. Frankly, I don't want to find out. It is always there and tempts me to claim it.

Doing that ritual brought me the only peace I have felt in two years. I gave that problem to the ancestors who are doing a phenomenal job. If I were to take it back that would signal to them that I no longer trust them to take care of this for me. I do trust them. It's me I don't trust. Don't trust myself not to fall back into the old ways. So I do not touch it. Give blessings to my ancestors who have unraveled this Gordian knot when I couldn't. Blessings for shielding me from the touch of something that I no longer want. Gratitude for their presence in my life.

I hiked this trail on Sunday night allowing full darkness to settle over me as I walked. The woods at night is a different place. Even though the trail is familiar to me, the gloaming darkness make it seem strange. Owls begin their hunts. Small lizards and snakes call it quits. The birds become silent and only the cicadas sing. The fireflies begin to flash me. Color slowly leaches out of the landscape until it is monochromatic shades of black and grey. A calm settles over the woods and it is contagious.

There have been many changes on my trail. Trees felled. Brush and honeysuckle cleared giving the understory a more open and vulnerable feeling. I don't like this change done in the name of trail maintenance. I prefer the plants to encroach on the trail, for the weeds to brush up against me where they whisper their secrets to me. This feels like Woods Lite. Where you can hike without ever soiling your designer Wonderbread clothes or snagging them in the brambles. It no longer feels like a place you come to meet Nature become one with Her essence, but a scenery you come to use as your backdrop.

I know She will recover. She always does.

I linger on the downslope where the trail is no wider than a deer trace until full dark. When I finally swing toward the uphill climb, I remember the medicine bag and wonder if it is gone. i look for it, but it is too dark to see anything that far off the trail. There are even more felled trees here than the other portion of the trail. I fear it is gone.

So I hiked again yesterday. Hiked it in reverse, which I do sometimes to stir the energy and to give me fresh eyes on the familiar footfalls. This time it was to consciously look for the medicine bag and retrieve it if it looked to be in danger. (I know- big DUH!) My assessment was right from my night hike. There were a lot of downed trees. I am not exactly sure where to look. I refused to pick out landmarks when I hung it that would help me find it again. So in the past, when I see it, I have acknowledged it and if I don't, I don't fuss about it. I am consciously and actively looking (generally if I do that, I break thru whatever protection is woven around it). But I do not see it. Cannot even find a place that looks right for all the downed trees.

I don't let that bother me. The ancestors have done what I asked them to do. I am free. They tell me that it is no longer there. That I can stop looking for it. To let the past go. And to face my eyes to the future.

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