I’m falling! Snapped out of whatever thoughts were filling my head, I notice the beautiful island I am visiting in kaleidoscope fashion as I tumble. I hit hard, and my hand is bleeding. I wish I could say this isn’t a regular thing, but my hand is bleeding from underneath the bandage I slapped on it a couple days ago. I’m a bit frustrated with myself for letting my mind wonder again, especially since I’m on the side of a cliff with jagged rocks and an ocean below for a safety net. I know it would be in my best interest to keep my mind focused on where I am and what I am doing. But there is a reason they call it ‘paying’ attention, and fatigue from a six-hour drive, followed by an hour and a half boat ride to get to this island, has me coming up a bit short.
My running has always been my meditation hall. My church. A place to bring my mind to a single point of focus on my present situation. If the trail is technical, new, or I am a bit fatigued going in, it usually lends to a much easier time staying mentally present. When I do lose focus, well…missing good footing on a root or rock along a jagged coastline, and taking a good tumble, usually brings me back to my present situation in a hurry.
I know I am physically and mentally tired from a day’s worth of travel to this beautiful island. That’s why I’m running. To clear my head. My juicy ‘story lines’ (a series of thoughts we bind together and call truths) have been filling my head off and on for most of the day. These story lines are usually memory fragments from things that happened in the past, or possibly hopes and fears about a future that hasn’t happened yet. Well my mind is no longer running a story line at present. I am on the ground, fully focused on the group of seals staring at me curiously from the ocean below.
I imagine this is how a Zen monk feels during a meditation session in his zendo (meditation hall), when he starts to drift off in his mind. Gets a bit too comfortable on his meditation mat (if that’s possible). Falls prey to fatigue, hunches over, and falls into the twilight of half-awakeness. This is when his instructor gives him a swift blow across the back with a bamboo stick. The surprising, yet clarifying pain brings the monk’s attention and focus back to the present in a hurried fashion. The student says, “Thank you,” to his instructor, not because he likes to get beaten, but because the moment of pain or un-comfortability brought him out of his ‘story line’ and back into his present life experience.
I’m not sure I’m ready to give a great big ‘thank you’ to the root that just tripped me up and caused me to cut my hand, but I do understand the usefulness of that pain. A less-than-gentle reminder to be mindful of my surroundings, my life’s experiences, and not to take any moment for granted.
