Walking Meditation Musings

How many times have I walked through Roberts Memorial Park ? I recall maybe ten or twenty times? In the past it was with kids and dogs, lately it's with just the dogs or John, company not conducive to deep contemplation or awareness!

What happens though when you walk the forest alone, with no one to break the silence by talking, no dog demanding attention and no kids excitedly showing you a drowned worm or rapidly fleeing snake, just you and the gently breathing forest?

Your inner stillness and solitude focuses your awareness. Suddenly the air vibrates with sound; you hear rain falling on ferns, spilling into puddles, running in to streams, the Pacific Coast tree frog thrumming in the distance, a raven calling its mate, a tree drinking long and deep. You feel the vibrant life emanating from earth, brushing your cheek with a gentle caress as it tosses the leaves and branches, sends a Brown Creeper and Bewick's wren flitting across your path. You sense the power, timeless and ancient, solid and secure and you feel ...whole.

Although there were seven women doing the walking meditation, we all walked the forest alone, lost in our own self-discovery, reverie and remembrance. After ringing in the practice with the singing bowl we performed the Seven Precious Gestures, a simple series of Qi Gong exercises, taught to John and I by Dr. Roger Jahnke. The exercise focuses attention on stimulating and gathering Qi. It tunes your body to the frequency of the forest, preparing and heightening your senses. We each were invited to set an intention, make a request or open our hearts to messages from a higher power and the source of wisdom. A raven, watching the proceedings from the upper canopy, sent us off with his deep haunting call.

As we walked the path to the water, we opened our awareness and whenever we felt that exquisite sense of oneness with all things we practiced "dinhin" a Zen form of walking meditation. The practice forces you to slow down, making you really see the forest, in all its shades of green and brown.

Stopping at one point on the trail I imitated the clear short calls of the Pacific Wren. Three small brown birds surrounded me, one to my left, one to my right and one pretty little thing, its tail ramrod straight, in front of me. They were beautiful but only stayed a moment before a flicking of their tail and they were flying off.

The end of the trail was a dramatic opening from dark, wet forest to panoramic view of the Gulf Islands, strait and open water. After pelting rain on the trip to the park and a ceaseless flow of rainfall while we practiced our Qi Gong and walked through the park it was amazing to see the sun shining across the water. It was as though we were being rewarded or blessed for our attention and consideration.

We formed a healing circle, reminiscent of the ones ancient wise women formed to commune, teach and seek higher levels of understanding. The high tide slapped against the rocks behind us, the rhythm like the beat of a sacred drum. We shared our experiences, the messages, the connections, the epiphanies and as we wise women spoke of the forest brimming with life, a rainbow arced across the sky behind us, touching down in the middle of the strait. It was an intensely felt moment, sacred and blessed because we chose to be mindful, aware and present.

"Samu" is a Zen meditation practice of being in the moment, being totally present and engaged in what you are doing. We experienced how transcending being in the moment can be and realized just how much we miss when we move unconsciously and unaware through life.

I challenge each of you to consider how much of your daily existence is on auto pilot. Is that how you want to move through life? If it is, wonderful. If it isn't, then learn to become mindfully aware, practice samu, and dinhin. Let your awareness be open to the beauty of just being, tuning in to your body and the world around you.

One of the women in the group was so moved and entranced by her experience she glowed with an inner beauty and vibrant radiance. She flitted across the path, pointing out bright orange fungus nurtured by nursing logs, diamond like droplets of water shimmering on tiny beds of fern and miniature waterfalls cascading over smooth grey rocks. She was seeing things she'd never seen before and reveled in the novelty of those instances.

Another phoned a few days later to say how profound her experience had been, how strong and lasting the impression of solidity and strength was, how recalling the memory gave her joy and peace.

I felt privileged to be a witness and to be a part of the experience. Thank you!

I invite you to have a similar transformational experience, turn off the autopilot; be open to intense experiences of joy and become mindfully aware of how truly blessed we are to be in this time, at this moment, in this place, in this body. <

"Only that day dawns to which we are awake." Henry David Thoreau