Intermission

It was mid-morning, maybe 9:00 or so, and it was too nice of a day not to be outside. I go for a walk on most days I’m not working. It is a form of mediation for me. I never grow tired of my walk even though I have been on the route hundreds of times. I vary it a bit here and there, but it is easy to do the same one, and after all the habit is entrenched.

The day was beautiful; warm and clear for winter. I picked a path I had never taken before, a trail through the forest. I had never noticed it, and I found this a bit odd. Mud squished underneath my feet and I nearly slipped a couple of times. I was listening to a podcast and split my attention between the trail and the interview. I pushed hard up the hill and felt my legs burn a little on the steeper inclines.

The day was ordinary, but as on many ordinary days I’ve had, I’ve realized there’s no such thing really. The trail eventually became more level, although the mud was thicker and messier here, as the sun could not penetrate the canopy of the forest to dry it out.

I liked the challenge. It focused the mind a bit, as one wrong step and I would be walking home with a wet and cold sock for a few miles. I purposefully wore running shoes today, as it decreases the margin for error. The sides of the shoe are very porous, and thus unforgiving should I step incorrectly into a puddle or especially deep pocket of mud.

The interview was captivating and I was devoting much of my attention to it. A few close calls with the mud.
I was hiking effortlessly today, just in the flow of the moment. My perception of time was skewed, although I’m not sure which way.

I took a picture, only one, because it was beautiful.

I put it on line so others could see it. But it will not be the same…

It is a copy of the beauty I saw, and that is a copy of reality.

A copy, of a copy, of a copy.

I paused at some point, not because I had to, but because I wanted to. I stopped the podcast, stopped the walking, and just sat on a bench.

I closed my eyes and let the sun wash over me. I was content in that moment.

I remember thinking no amount of money could recreate this feeling of absolute serenity. Maybe I could buy the land I was hiking on, but I could not purchase this feeling.

There is something beyond money, beyond grasping.

I eventually started the podcast and started walking, but I don’t know why. I had nowhere to be, nothing to do, no obligations.

Maybe I should have stayed a bit longer, but I went home.

It was habit.

The habit of striving, of always going somewhere.

What if one day I just let be?