My mother has said to me a couple of times "I wish I could go on one of your long walks."
I feel a little guilty about this, because, sadly, she can't.
While she's worked incredibly hard to keep her feet, ankles, and knees working, these pieces of my mother have been through A LOT — each has a war story. They are simply not going to put up with a multi-mile trek. And they would definitely balk at the unstable terrain I often stroll in service to my creative process.
But the truth is you don't need to walk far — or move at all — to harness the creative energy that fuels healing. Just a few steps are enough to re-seed the heart, especially if taken in sacred space. Sometimes simply sitting in nature, not moving at all, returns me to a sense of awe about the divine creation working in the world. And my connection to it.
Which is why, when my mother recently called to say she needed something akin to my walking to get unstuck from interior muck, to re-center herself, and to discern the next road on the map of her life, I sent her to the Hoh Rainforest. For decades these ancient glades and the loamy paths beneath them have reconnected me with me. They’ve welcomed me to walk through my thoughts. Beneath their mystic boughs, I’ve found my way forward, and, when necessary, let go of my baggage.
As I write this, my mother is still in the forest, by a lake, next to a river, under a sky that is home to a book of birds. With her cane in hand and orthopedic shoes on her feet, she is wandering in her own way at her own pace. She texted me to share that she’s just taken her first walk — slow, with lots of stops to rest and breathe along the way, but triumphant nonetheless.
“It felt absolutely wonderful,” she said.
As I sit here holding space for my mother’s journey, I visualize her heart thrown open. I visualize her stepping into and claiming as her own that wild and numinous nature and, in doing so, drinking in self-love and hope.
Herself, Alive, Awake
i took my mother to the woods
and left her there to sleep
beside a lake
a falls
a grove
in Healing’s sacred keep
healing bid my mother
lay down in this holy place
which knows of loss
of pain
of hurt
but also knows of Grace
grace, like rain, fell hard and soft
it pooled beneath the canopy
sent to bless
to carry
to wash
to flood in divine sanity
the Sitkas reigned and rode the wind
and moved like sufis in the night
they whirled for peace
for love
for hope
for calm, illumined sight
the rain fell still, the sun burst through
the forest bathed in golden light
a mending psalm
a cure
a balm
a soul released to take her flight
i left my mother to the woods
i laid her by a hallowed lake
to kindle her strength
her truth
her worth
to return to herself, alive, awake
Top photo courtesy of Creative Commons / Malonecr7
Bottom photo by Cheryl Murfin
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