Missed My Turn

This morning I wanted to run from something. So I drove to the running trail. I missed the turn into the parking lot and had to drive up to the next one, making me feel temporarily frustrated that after two years of avoiding this trail I'd forgotten how to get to it. You see I didn't want to cut my run short, because if I was going to come all the way out here, fully invested, I didn't want to have to backtrack, etc., etc.

I heard a voice inside of me say, "There is medicine up ahead." So I cooled my jets and shrugged my moment and turned into the next one. Because heck, there was something I needed to see up there, right?

It's not easy to feel like a beacon all the time. It's reasonable enough to utilize Eagle's long vision and know that you are shining your light just by living and doing what you do so naturally. But feeling it consistently? Bit more of a challenge there. And obviously, life is not meant to be one lengthy dash toward the Sun. There are times when darkness falls for a period, with it's accompanying less-than-bright sentiments. Yearning for the light does not make it return until it's time to. One can only find a comfortable place to learn the secrets the darkness holds and make howling noises along with the wild things that dwell there to let them know that we are present to what is being shown.

When I got to the path, I tucked my keys into my stretchy yogic waistband and began my stride. Up on the left, there were little black ducks, like coots. I feel like an old coot out here!, I lamented, while stifling my laughter to protect my on-trail reputation for being sane. On my right was a giant crow's nest, twiggy and bowl-shaped. I thought about what a nice place it must be to rest inside of. To my right was a white crane, seeming to look at herself in the water's reflection, standing in the marsh up to her knees in muddy muck. What was she searching for? Perhaps it was a fish she'd spied, but something about the way she tilted and leaned around caused me to see her as self-reflective- beautiful there on the dark water. Overhead, near the end of my sprint, the carrion birds circled. I imagined what might be dead over there, or were they waiting for something to die? They soared gracefully on the thermals, patient, as I sometimes am not. What is dying in me, ready to create some open space for lightness to eventually fill? Why does it take so damn long?

Sometimes we find ourselves on a Medicine Road when we least expect it. It is often good timing to miss one's turn.

Love,

Pixie