I was walking back into the woods, along the little ridge above the unnamed stream, when it hit me...
I hadn't noticed it in the three previous trips back to where I had cut down an old elm tree - trip after trip retrieving tomorrow's firewood...and the next day's...and the next...
Yet, in a moment of awareness...I heard the stream - the rushing waters as they traveled past me and towards our home, on their way to join with the Mohawk River on the other side of Route Five. How could I have missed it? Me, the man who professes to love nature and all of her whispers...whispers that most never hear. Yet, a busy mind is a mind that blocks everything else out - stick to the mission at hand!
And a big smile came across my face...and heart, as I reveled in finding myself where I was...and when it was. Of course the moment didn't last long. My mind regaining its lost power - back down my mindless path to and across the stream to retrieve another log - the big ones one at a time up on my shoulder - alternating right and left each 300-foot trip so as to not cramp up. And once again I was in flow - lost in my work, a mindless dump truck hauling load after load without thinking.
And so it goes, as it has gone for most all of my life - lost in the flow of tasks and missions and preparations and following the lead of those who I've relinquished my power to...perhaps.
I've been doing a bit of editing over the past few weeks - following the trails of past expeditions into the woods and on the lake and on paths along streams, and I realized that the stories I write about come from the ordinary moments of each day. It is the ordinary moments of each and every day that have a story to share...with those who are ready to listen. Yet, in order to hear, you have to remove the distractions that race about inside our little brains - thoughts of yesterday and tomorrow and what you "should" be doing...in order to accomplish or progress towards...or...
We are a mission driven culture; we give our children agendas to follow and live by...as our parents and bosses did with us. So often we race from this place to that - this appointment or that meeting...running late...not as prepared as we'd like to be...wondering what you'll find when you get there...and down the road - and believe me, it's a short road, you totally forget what all the fuss was about, because most likely, it never really mattered in the first place - it only mattered to well-trained minds that follow a trail of breadcrumbs to a place called Oz.
And all along that walk or ride or while sitting completely still with a racing mind, the moment at hand patiently awaits to reveal what is…right now; the story that's always and everywhere unfolding before us - that we're too busy to recognize or revel in...or share with our children.
I've made a few more trips back into the woods on my favorite path this afternoon - the bright sun streaming through the leafless trees and the stream singing my favorite song in the background - water that will eventually make its way past the building of cubes down in downtown Albany where my eyes would often gaze if I found myself near a window on the fifth floor...and it hit me once again...
Here I was, walking through the woods on a Thursday afternoon - a beautiful late-autumn day, and I was walking in the woods along the stream...harvesting tomorrows' heat from the garden in my back yard; and...harvesting a warmth that comes from realizing how very wealthy I am, as I walk amongst what no man can create - heaven.
Three and half years ago, I would have been sitting in a ten-by-ten cubicle...with my back to the window, my neck crooked while on the phone discussing what no longer mattered...to me. Someone had to do it...and make the big bucks...and drive the shiny new cars...and live in a development with endless green lawns...but it didn't have to be me, at least...not any more.
And I think back to what I asked for as I left that building of cubes for the last time...it was "enough" - nothing more and nothing less, and I've come to realize that this is what I have. We each foretell our future...isn't it nice when we find ourselves in the heaven of our own making, which has always been there waiting for us to stop long enough to realize and revel in the moments where stories are born.
