Saturday, May 28, 2016
This morning we hiked out into the forest surrounding our free campsite. It felt adventurous and refreshing to explore the mostly undisturbed nature around us. If you’re quiet enough, you can hear the rustling of life around you even if you can’t always see it. We headed toward a better view of the mountains in the distance – grand ones with evidence of snow at their peaks. They have a kind of unmistakable presence reminding you simultaneously of your meager size and footprint in this world and of your importance and interconnectedness with all of humanity and life in general. Sometimes as you contemplate a spiritually important reminder such as this and meditate on it’s meaning, you become distracted by another life. “Mommeeeee,” it whines. “Mommy, I’m tired. I can’t walk anymore. It’s too hard. I want to take all of these sticks back to the RV. Can you carry them?” Of course, there’s the automatic responses about how you’re almost there/it’s only been five minutes/you can do it/look at how cool [fill-in-the-blank] is, etc. And of course, it’s to no avail. The distraction becomes even more of an annoyance as it grows even more annoyed. It is relentless. And it is hungry/tired/bored…and WHINY. Every sound this life makes is a whine. Zen becomes an effort. Sometimes it is a lost cause completely. But today I was reminded that this is evidence of life just as much as the quiet rustlings in the forest. And sometimes cultivating Zen comes from the way I handle my hungry/tired/bored three year old on a walk and not from the majesty of breathtaking, life-altering mountain ranges or any other wonder of our physical world. Sometimes it means belting out “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt” on the way back to the RV because I’ve accepted that I’m just not going to have that quiet, contemplative walk this time. This time, for me, it was about knowing my child’s limits, being attuned to his moods and needs, and being fully present for the specific life that I voluntarily—eagerly!—brought forth and nourished. And that sounds pretty Zen to me.
