Creek and Cairn Therapy

I woke up this morning to the sound of the woods calling out to me as clearly as if someone were speaking directly into my ear.  “Hey Kid, come out and play!”   NEVER being one to just “pop” out of bed in the morning, I surprised myself as I jumped right up and answered, “I’m on my way”.  With a major ankle injury still putting the damper on hiking I am limited to a short walk and then sitting down.  Being the “Overgrown 10-Year-Old” that I am, that wasn’t really a big deal since I could think of a whole slew of semi-sedentary things to do in the woods.  Jake could tell right away that something was up when we didn’t go directly to the dog park for our daily morning visit and we didn’t even take up residence at my corner table at Starbucks.  Jake was practically raised in the woods and was just as excited as I was.  He wiggled impatiently on the front seat of my van as I acquired coffee, water and breakfast and when I came out he looked at me and said, "c'mon Mom, what took you so long?!" We took the beautiful Blue Ridge Parkway out to Bent Creek and driving down the road with the windows wide open and music blaring, I felt at home.  The cool and damp air wafted in and pressed down on my foot causing the car to speed up.  It wasn’t me doing the speeding, I swear it was the fresh air!  Certainly any cop would believe that!  Being a Tuesday morning there were only a few people out and about.  Even so, I bypassed the popular Rice Pinnacle, Hard Times and Ledford parking areas and headed out for the more secluded but still popular Explorer Trail…an old favorite.  Encountering a large muddy puddle on the walk in, I couldn’t resist the overwhelming temptation to step directly in the middle.  Crap!  I forgot to change into my Crocs.  Shrugging, I thought, “Oh well, there’s mud beckoning to be stepped and I can’t NOT, not do it and I am NOT going back to the car,” so step in it I did.  Stomp and splatter are probably more accurate terms actually.  My green Chuck Taylors became a deep chocolate brown color but not for long though as there was WATER nearby to play in! 

Just off the road but decently far off the beaten path along the winding and aptly named, Bent Creek, I found a spot that felt as if no one had ever been there before. I gently eased my fragile leg down the steep bank and into the water. YIKES!! It was cold but hopefully would do my swollen foot some good. I slowly made my way to a large dead tree lying in the creek. There was a smaller log leaning against the big one and because I wanted to soak my foot and the large log was too high off the water for that purpose, I opted instead for the small log as a place to sit. I sat down and felt an instantaneous connection. The obvious connection being wet and soggy log connected to once dry pants, but a deeper energetic connection happened as well just from plugging directly into the earth right there on that rotten log. I sat still and listened to the creek talk to me. I reveled in the life force of the creek and suddenly felt celestially supported…a very powerful and healing thing water is. The moment however, was short lived and with a loud crack of the small log and a huge splash I was almost completely submerged. I hoped no one saw that blunder. It appeared no one did. So now I'm drenched...ok, no biggie. It was a warm day. I reevaluated the large log and noticed a live rhododendron branch lying just on the surface of the water creating a seat of sorts with the large log as a backrest. Perfect. I sat down and resumed my foot-soaking commune with Mother Earth and took in the sounds. Birds were chirping. Bugs were buzzing. The creek sang as it rushed over rocks and it whistled countless stories of centuries past. It made another noise as well. A deep, hollow and guttural bass sound was happening as the water made its way over part of the log. I took in the smells too. Wet and musty, a slight decaying leafy odor mixed with a little galax and wildlife. Some call it skunky. I call it "olfactory paradise" and it brings me back to my first days at Outward Bound 20 years before. The entire Nature Choir complete with Smell section was truly meditative and I sat soaking my feet for 15 minutes before I got too antsy and had to move. Upon coming out of my reverie, I noticed that near the log was a beach of flood-strewn rocks. I LOVE rocks. I am not exactly sure what the draw is to a simple, boring old rock but at its very basic level, they are Nature's Blocks. Ancient toys. More than that though, they emit an inexplicable energy and just being in their presence makes me feel good. No doubt Charlie Brown, of Peanuts fame would have a different story to tell and would argue against anything rock related, but thankfully he’s not here. My Inner Child, who loves all things to build with, was absolutely giddy with pure joy at the sight of the rocks. I sat down and getting hands, knees and butt dirty, got busy playing Stone Jenga. Within minutes I had built a wobbly cairn. It fell. I built it again. It fell again. I couldn’t escape the blaring life-metaphor slamming me in the face as I calmly and happily rebuilt yet again…and again…and again after each fall. With each rock precariously placed, the challenge-investment increased exponentially and I was glued to the spot. I had found a funky-shaped rock that was just begging to be in this cairn. I couldn’t let it down. I balanced it right on the edge of another rock serving as a foundation and once it was stable enough I quickly stacked several more stones on top of it. It held steady and I was satisfied.

 

Over the course of the next several hours, I built 4 more cairns each one more elaborate and delicate than the last.  I had initially thought I would be done after the first one.  I had thought I would move onto something else like stick shelters or miniature rafts but the rocks kept shouting “pick me, pick me, I wanna play too!!!”   The rocks wanted to be a part of it.  The cairns themselves wanted to be built.  Each rock had just the perfect texture, size, shape and weight for what each cairn needed and wanted. The multitude of colors just added to the allure and my dedication to building.  Their energies simply wouldn't let me leave.  At some point during the afternoon, another thought occurred to me.  Cairns are built to guide others.  They stand as markers and trail signs and hold unspoken messages of well-being and safety.  Here I was building them just for myself, just for fun.  It was unlikely that anyone else would stumble across them and even if they did, they wouldn’t guide them anywhere other than directly into the creek.  Was there something else greater happening here?  Was there some spirit-being working through the building of cairns to guide me somewhere?  It’s possible that was the case, but where?  No idea...they didn't speak that loudly...or maybe the sound of the creek was too loud and it obscured my hearing.  "Yeah, that must've been it".  But there IS something undeniably magical and mystical and therapeutic about walking into a field of cairns, and so if someone did happen to stumble upon this place, no doubt my little cairns would speak to them like they did me.  Would someone else be guided somehow?   I imagine the cairns would likely appeal to their inner child[ren] and tell them that this playtime in nature is nurturing and that they should jump right in...literally.  It would encourage them to splash and play in the creek, get dirty building more cairns and make energetic connections with the Earth.  I heard this message loud and clear and for the duration of the afternoon, my Inner Child played out its little heart’s content.

Left Turn Karma

Earlier today, I was stopped at a red light waiting to make a left turn in a very long line of cars.  I passed the minutes by belting along, concert style, with a Brandi Carlile tune playing on my iPhone.  My focus was not at all on the exasperated driver across the road, waiting to make a left turn and join the line...although in retrospect my subconsciousness had taken in the entirety of the scene.  She had a clearly unhappy-looking grimace on her face as she was leaning forward against the steering wheel, rocking ever so slightly in what I'm guessing was an attempt to plead her case to someone in line.   My turn came to go and with my foot on the gas pedal, I inched forward at the exact split-second I realized she was there.  Both messages of GO and STOP were simultaneously sent from my brain and reached my right foot at the same awkward instant.  With a long line of impatient drivers behind me, my car jerked to a stop in the same way a teenage driver spastically learns to drive a stick shift.  I waved her in. The passenger of the other car had her window down and as they passed by, she shot me the biggest toothy grin ever and applauded. I smiled back and gave her the requisite Seinfeldian "you're welcome" wave.  At the time I didn't think the gesture warranted such joyful recognition as applause, but later, the whole seconds-long event got me to thinking.  How long had those ladies been waiting?  How many other cars ignored the driver's request to jump in line?  Were those other cars just too hurried to be nice?  Were they hoping to make the green light before getting stuck for another round of turn-waiting?  How many cars were just too preoccupied to notice they were there?   So why me?  Who were these two ladies and what cosmic connection did I have to them?  Did I maybe just right some past wrong?  Maybe it wasn't even in this lifetime. Could it be that that simple act just fixed some past-life karmic event gone awry?  Maybe we've both been healed in some way as a result.  I have NO idea.  OR, did I just set in motion some huge good-deed ripple-effect with that seemingly insignificant act of kindness?  Better yet, the ripple effect was already in motion set by someone else and I just jumped on one outlying wave and passed it on.  Will they now get to where they are going on time as a result of this quick interaction?  Now they won't miss that flight or that movie or that dinner reservation.  Or rather, they were just tired and wanted to go home.  Whatever the case, I'm hoping their improved mood will motivate them to carry the ripples to someone else.  Hold a door open for an elderly person perhaps or help someone load groceries in their car or give someone else a warm smile...something.  I think there was a commercial on TV a while back about this very subject...it was a good one but obviously not good enough since I don't remember what it advertised. Perhaps it was just advertising the potentially global benefit of a single kind deed.  I suppose it could have been both ripples AND karmic repair at work here.  Or maybe neither came into play today and those ladies in the other car went on with their day completely unaffected...but judging by the grateful grin I got in return, I don't think that's likely.  In any case, ripples or karma or otherwise, nothing bad ever came out of a good deed no matter how small.  Although...hmmmm.  I suppose in this case I could have easily been rear-ended by the ever-impatient, forward-inching driver behind me and that would have been a very bad result.  Perhaps my good deed caused a horrible chain-reaction car accident in the line behind me...

 NAAAAAAAAAAH!!!  I would have heard sirens.

The Kids at the Park and My Green Chuck Taylors

A few weeks ago at my favorite dog park, I was accosted by three children, ages 4, 5 and 6. They asked about my dog Jake and in one short, 2-word answer I suddenly had a gaggle of tiny best friends who proceeded to tell me their life story. I found out that the boy in the yellow shirt is Jacob but everyone calls him Jake and so he and my dog must be twins because they have the same name.  They were rather disappointed to discover that my dog, is absolutely not a Jacob. The brother and sister, Arianna and Christian, are moving here from California and their cousin Jacob is moving here from New Jersey and they will be next-door neighbors. They have a small playhouse in the yard and their house is blue and Jacob's house is white. They made sure to tell me what road they will be living on in West Asheville and that both houses are on the same piece of property. Their cars are loaded down with stuff and they barely have any room to fit.  They told me they will be moving into their houses... "hmmm, maybe today".  I now know that Jake doesn't know when he will turn 6 but that he had an Angry Birds party when he turned 5 but he has no idea when that was either. Arianna will have a Hello Kitty party for her 7th birthday in September and she will have a pink cake with a "7" candle on top. She says, she will make a wish but not tell anyone what it is or it won't come true.  Four-year-old Christian cut his finger in the tiniest way possible and it <em>would</em> be producing only a tiny amount of blood except that he keeps squeezing it to make it bleed so that he can justify it requiring a bandaid to make it all better. Bandaids make ow-ies better. Arianna and I discussed nine different choices...NINE choices, we counted them...about how he could handle his near-fatal wound, including NOT squeezing it quite so much.  She rejected amputation in favor of a the bandaid idea.  Christian can hula hoop and whistle but not at the same time although he tries.  I have been made aware that their last name has a grand total of nine letters in it and how to spell it.  I was promptly corrected when I got several of the 9 letters in the wrong order.  Arianna's name has two N's and not just one and Jacob's name has only five.  J-A-C-O-B can be spelled in less than two seconds and that is a very exciting thing to do when you are 5. Repeatedly.  J-A-C-O-B-J-A-C-O-B-J-A-COBJACOB!!!!  Whew!  Turns out, I can do it that fast too, even at my age. They were excited to see that I wear green Chuck Taylors.  Jacob has a red pair just like them only they're much, much smaller but he's not wearing them right now because he can put his sandals on all by himself.  And it's summer.  Arianna's favorite colors are pink and purple but she does have a green shirt, just like my shoes, with a shamrock on it that she wore for "that day the leprechauns came". They inquired about my favorite color, I said blue, and they noted that both my T-shirt and my jeans are my favorite.  They became very concerned when they noticed that it appears that my dog's brains are leaking out of the top of his head in a tiny little "brain-looking thing" poking through his fur. I explained that it's only a wart which incited a thought-provoking discussion on the qualities a frog must possess in order to become a prince when kissed. Frogs with warts don't become princes but they will certainly give you a wart if you kiss them, whereas frogs without warts are way more likely to be a prince.  Talking about frogs brought up a discussion of puddles and all three children were completely mesmerized by my tale of puddle jumping and splashing in a torrential downpour at that very park just days before.  They wanted to know the exact location of said puddle.  We talked about how much fun it is to get dirty and to play in the sand and how we both love the beach.  This entire conversation lasted maybe 15 minutes at the most. I say they "accosted" me but the truth is, I was more than delighted to talk with them and I'm willing to bet that only a minute more and they would have brazenly climbed into my lap as if they were about to talk to Santa. As it were, their grubby fingers and bright, smiling faces were practically in my face but I didn't care. The sharp eyes of a parent were close enough nearby to bark orders like "get out of her face!" and ultimately to call them away for lunch.  In only fifteen minutes, their unbridled enthusiasm for life profoundly touched my life and spoke directly to my soul. Sometimes I need to be reminded that pure joy can be found in the simple things like the color of your shoes and more often than not, at least for me, it's a child who does the reminding.

Ers and ists

At the relentless encouragement of several of my siblings and friends, I have decided to join the blogosphere just like everyone else.  Here’s the thing though…I am not a writer.  Nope.  Not me.  No writer here.  No sirree.  Not yet at least.  So with that in mind, I am calling it “I Am Not Writing a Blog”.  I wanted to call it “This Is Not a Blog” but that name was taken.  Having never written anything besides the casual Facebook post, I cannot in good conscience call myself a writer despite what other well-intentioned people might say about me.  The title of “writer” implies a certain level of performance as does any label and creates a high level of pressure even if that pressure is self imposed.  So I avoid labels.  Like the plague.  I try to anyway.  I have managed to create the occasional piece of decent art that I am reasonably proud to show off to people but that does not make me an artist.  The second you call yourself an artist people get the wrong idea.  It works with anything really…the wrong idea.  Add "er" or “ist” onto the end of something you like to do and suddenly you elevate yourself to a higher level and then it’s not as much fun anymore.  Photographer. Singer. Pianist.  Mountain biker.  Rock climber.  The list goes on…  Once you’re on that higher level of achievement it’s hard to go backwards. It’s like the kid that gets an “A” on his report card and then can never get a “C” again because he’s not meeting his own potential.  Sometimes it’s better to under-achieve. “Er” is a word best used only when not sure of what to say or in the event of referring to a 1990’s TV show about a hospital and not attached to a skill you possess.  Case in point…”were you ever a writer for ER back in the 90’s?  Er…No.”  So how does anyone ever get to be anything then?  Well, I guess people are what they say they are.  No doubt not using such labels is self-limiting and self-defeating, collectively self-destructive.  I guess I am being self-destructive.  Maybe some people actually want that higher level of distinction and are perfectly ok with ists or ers and then they inadvertently make something of themselves.  Maybe that’s all it takes…a personal decision to be elevated?  Maybe it’s as simple as an acknowledgement of one’s own skills or just a universal intention to be greater that gives people the right idea.  No doubt there’s a self-fulfilling prophecy at work here.  Ugh.  I am feeling very internally divided. The voices in my head are having an inter-cranial argument with each other…my inner critic is screaming “labels suck!  You’ll never be a writer!!” and my inner therapist is calmly answering Ms. Critic with “you can do anything you want as long as you put your heart in it, be vulnerable”.  Which is the louder voice here?  Ok fine.  I give in.  I give up.  I sort of, maybe have a skill or two I can put to good use.  I will write.  I will be a write-er.

Of course there is one er that is NOT elevating. In fact it has an opposite dregs-of-society-bowels-of-the-earth effect. Anyone who likes to sew should NOT under any circumstances add an er no matter how badly you might want to participate in such an activity. Please call yourself a "sewist" instead.