The Path is My Teacher

The path along which I walk twice daily is well worn. It varies from the width of a truck to no more than a mere few inches, or the length of my foot. There is a small creek alongside to the north that meanders darkly beneath alder, willow and oak. Every morning and some afternoons for more than a month now I walk my young dog for his relief and mine, finding a small moment of peace and beauty amidst this noisy and busy suburb.

Every day there is some small or large change, though the path itself never leaves its course.
A few weeks ago, I noticed for the first time a meadow of blue chicory glowing in the morning sun. Just a few days ago, though, someone mowed them all down, and I was hugely disappointed to see mere stubble in its place. Nothing stays the same amidst a universe in motion.
There are however some things about this path that do not seem to change, at least not in human time. The broad, hardpacked beginning is sure beneath my feet. But there is a point, not far along, that must be attended to, each and every passing, with absolute clarity. There is a point at which the path narrows to little more than 6 inches where it falls off some 15 feet or so to the creek below. The slide is littered with broken branches and rocky outcroppings. The soil is loose and there are no foot or handholds. At this point, all wandering of the mind must halt while I carefully watch each and every step so as not to slide down to end a muddy, bleeding mess.
I have shepherded my daughter along this path, and always take care to remind her of the narrows. One day, we walked along with her friends, and were very certain to warn them of the dangers at this particular point. We all fared well, and went on to find insects, toads, and a small beaver dam further down.
On the way back, though, one of her friends, excited by our finds, paid no attention to our warnings, and was only saved at the last minute from a nasty accident by my daughter's quick thinking and deft hand.
Since then, whenever I pass this way, I remember that day, the rush of adrenaline at thinking how badly her misstep could have gone.
When I was a working naturalist, leading young students through the oak woodlands, redwood forests and marshes of San Mateo's coastline, we would call back, "Trail Hazard", when coming to such a potential danger. The call would be repeated, student by student to ensure that no child, wondering at the immense or minute beauty around them would misstep and be injured. But there is no 'leader' on my daily sojourns, and usually no followers. But for the trail itself, I am on my own. The path is my teacher now, and I have become  its student.
Now as I walk, I am especially mindful of my steps at this point. I do not wonder at the Universe and how it spins eternally, nor fret about future concerns. I turn my mind fully to the exact task at hand: step by step I navigate this treacherous passage thinking of one thing only, and that is this narrow strip of earth and safely getting by.
It is a reminder of life, and the paths we tread moment to moment and year by year. At times the path is well-worn, clearly marked and free of obstructions and dangers. But there is always a point at which the path gets tricky and our safe passage comes into question. It is then, through attention to our steps and the nature of potential danger, that we take a risk so that we might walk into our future more assured. While I look forward to the place where the trail provides me with a higher vantage point of a lovely bend in the creek, where I might sit in quiet meditation, or of returning home to the things that must be done this day, upon reaching this particular place, I stop all other thoughts but of this exact moment and tread with intention.


Image courtesy: http://iamagonistes.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/rocky-path.jpg