Walking through the woods the other day I found myself thinking. Thinking it turns out is an activity which, meditation practice notwithstanding, I’m incapable of not doing. Perhaps that’s why my novice monk robes have been held up in Nepalese customs for these many years. As I made my way toward the top of the ridge thoughts wandered and morphed spinning my brain into a somnambulistic drift.
A deep sigh brought me out of my reverie. “Was that me?” I wondered. The complete lack of anything but trees and a whitetail deer lead me to believe that it was in fact, me, releasing the somewhat dramatic, perhaps even melodramatic sigh. A sigh of release I thought, as all sighs are, a near verbalization of the letting go, or forcible jettisoning of something the mind or body no longer wished to hold.
Hmm, the sigh had caught me off guard. “What had I been carrying?” I wondered. “What had I released?” As lives go mine has been a walk in the park, current circumstances made that expression a pun of course, but whatever. I crested the ridge taking in the endless canopy of brilliant green late summer majesty and paused. Then it dawned on me. It was a simple thing really; nothing more than a deep sigh releasing a lifetime of making things harder than they had to be.
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