Thursday's Reflection: Wisdom While Walking

I have written frequently about my morning walks in the neighborhood as a time when I often receive thoughts I want to explore. As I cruise the now familiar blocks, I awaken to the day. I enjoy the pleasures of a new day. In a way, I announce my presence to the day, and I agree to start anew, opening to the movement of the Divine in my life. 

A recent walk offered two gifts literally at my feet: poems inscribed in the sidewalk in front of two homes. I might have missed them, except I still walk slowly and cautiously, aware of the changes in the sidewalk levels, thanks to my recovering broken ankle. Although I do not yet walk fast enough to raise my heart beat to a strong work-out rate, my heart skipped a beat when I read these poems.

Not Like Fire

Nothing Flaming
or even
potentially
aflame.
Nothing 
caught up 
with danger.
Nothing racing to take
control
or possessions or 
no prisoners.

No, our love
was never like that. 

I stood quietly, paying my respect to that kind of sustaining love. I wondered about the person who wrote those words and has  permitted the world to peek inside that love. Forever. I wondered if he or she still lives in the house by that section of sidewalk and if not, are the people who live there now inspired by those words to love more deeply, more fully and freely? What was the story behind the words, behind the decision to etch one's heart on the sidewalk? I grieved for the loss the poet has experienced, but rejoice in the enduring life of that love. I held my hand on my heart and sent out a blessing that all may know the kind of love that does not need fire to live. 

And then I continued my walk only to discover another poem just steps away in front of another house. 

The sky
fell on
my tree
and I 
was a fast
runner. 

I gasped. Whoa! Here is a story of survival, of endurance, of resilience. What did that tree look like? What crashed? What fell apart? Did lightning strike? Was there a dark and stormy night? And then what? I've met many "fast runners" in my life and have been inspired by them, especially when they have known it was time to slow down, even stop, in order to know, really know, the lessons of the broken tree. It is not enough to escape being trapped under branches and limbs--that's a start--but then how do you rebuild, transforming tragedy, loss, and change into new life? What deep knowing is available when the tree no longer stands?
Where did this "fast runner" go? Where did the running lead?


All I did that morning was put on my walking shoes, stick my phone and keys in my pocket and head out the front door. The first decision of the day, beyond yes, I will take a walk, was to decide which direction to go. I turned right and such gifts I found. 

An Invitation
What gifts have you found simply because you made the first basic decision--to open your heart and head out the door? I would love to know. 

Bonus: The next morning I went another direction and I heard someone typing, yes typing, as in typing on a typewriter. Clickety clack, clack, clack. Fast and steady. Obviously, I wonder about that person and the great American novel being written! On that same walk I encountered a unique STOP sign. Someone had re-imagined a STOP sign as an overgrown flower. How did this come to be? Mysteries and pleasures are present wherever you go!