The Direction of Intention

Walking toward the channel we passed two women engaged in an intense conversation. “It’s this unexplained exhaustion!” one said to the other. Kerri leaned in and whispered to me, “There’s nothing unexplained about it, living each day in this political nightmare. We’re all exhausted!” Amen.

We’re counting down the days to the election though we’re not naive enough to believe a blue wave will end the crazy times. Initially, if what we read is true, it will open the floodgates to the mayhem. Authoritarians do not go down easily since accountability for their corruption will come with the loss of power. We’re fastening our seat belts.

It had been months since we walked the southern segment of the trail. It’s been flooded much of the summer. Or too hot. And, with all the water, we feared the legions of mosquitos would carry us away. After several cool nights and a series of clear fall days, the trail called to us, “Give it a try!” Dogga was having a good day so during his afternoon nap we took the window of opportunity, strapped on our sandals, and drove to the trailhead.

It felt like years since we’d walked this path. It was like strolling the halls of elementary school after graduating college. Known but weirdly altered. The path was the same – but somehow different.

We reminisced. “Do your remember! This is where we saw the bobcat.” And, “Remember when this was underwater and we walked through it anyway.” After several memories I realized what we were doing: touching back to stable times. We were revisiting the time before the devastation of our democracy, before the ICE terror, before the kakistocracy destabilized our nation and the world.

We’ve always walked these paths when we needed to sort through difficult questions or to reclaim our center when we felt off balance. This time was different. With the reminiscence came some angst. And some grief. And some anger. This walk was not about regaining our calm or finding a simple solution, it was about taking a breath before stepping back into the turmoil.

We surprised a grey heron. It was enormous and flew just far enough away to feel safe. A turtle sat on a branch above the water sunning itself. It plopped into the the pond when we walked by. We stopped in a well-known stretch of trail lined by tall reeds. It always inspires a photo or two. The autumn sun was intense, “We should have worn our hats!”

We were silent as we returned to the trailhead and the car.

There is a before and there is an after. The trail we sought lives in the before. The trail we walked this day was solidly in the after, the same but different. And, we realized, it’s not the trail that has changed – it is us. We are more wary now. Less trusting. Disconnected from some family members. Shocked at the ugly underbelly of the nation. Knowing that there is no way to repair what is broken but certain that, if the democracy survives, there could be a new and better chapter though it will take decades to achieve.

We’d caught our breath. We’d glimpsed a distant hope. We felt the exhaustion in our bones. We began a new relationship with our old friend, the trail-going-south, the same but now remarkably different.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE REEDS

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