Walk It Out
Walk It Out
Stiff and aching, my body wants to linger in bed in the morning, but I feel compelled to roll reluctantly out of bed and go for a walk. After jotting down a few morning revelations, I head out the door with my eager dog, Zoe. I often visit one of the outdoor shopping centers nearby with convenient sidewalks and gentle elevations. The air is lovely before the stores open, when cars populate the parking lots. Friendly lawn service crews or construction workers are usually hard at work when Zoe and I arrive by car (The shopping centers are further away than is reasonable for me to walk).
I plug my earbuds into my ears and listen to music while I walk sometimes, but the best experience is simply wandering aimlessly along the sidewalks. I’ve decided that the walk, in some respects, is Zoe’s walk. I’m just there for her protection. She takes her opportunity seriously and wanders aimlessly from bush to tree to mulch to grass. My walking gait is slow partly to accommodate my aching knees, but also to allow Zoe to explore. It’s the aimless walking that makes the experience enjoyable. A traditional way of walking meditation is to walk back and forth along a path or to walk in a circle. We aren’t walking to a destination, so we stay present with the experience of walking itself, paying attention to how the ground feels under our feet, or what we sense in our bodies. With each breath, we place our feet on the ground and notice the miracle of a step. We are aware of how we balance ourselves to keep from falling. What we usually take for granted becomes explicit.
My daily walk has another benefit for me. I know that if I stretch a bit and begin to move deliberately, then focus my attention on whatever aches, after a few minutes of walking, the pain or ache gently subsides. Then, my walk will become a pleasant, pain-free experience. I see the value of “walking it out.” Pain is an announcer of misalignment; our minds choose how to answer.
There have been other times in my life when I’ve had to walk it out. When grief overcame me with repeated deaths, I had to walk it out. During illness and recovery, I knew that getting up and walking would be a lifesaver. The body is built to walk; it is a blessing some of us cannot or struggle to experience. My neighbors, some youthful athletes and others aging sojourners, walk up and down the roads and cul-de-sacs absorbing the morning sun or the dusky evenings and sunsets. Sometimes, as Zoe and I walk, we meet neighbors and their dogs along the way. Since I live alone most of the time, our excursions are chances to meet briefly with neighbors for friendly banter and to check their well-being.
Scientists and healthcare professionals have underscored the importance of exercise for good mental health. Some of us have unused gym memberships, but the fresh air I breathe on morning walks is enlivening, giving my body the gift of awakening. Despite wobbly knees, I am committed to walking outside, weather permitting. Sometimes, I need to walk it out—walk out anxiety about world affairs or personal life frustrations. I welcome waking up my mind and opening my heart with movement.
Sitting meditation or prayers can begin the process. I meditate and pray every morning, but we cannot escape the external reality of pain and suffering among those we love, know well, barely know, or will never know. Suffering is a reality. The upside of compassion for others is opening our hearts, but it comes with the risk of attachments to what’s not working well and perseverating about what’s wrong in the world. The danger is becoming oblivious to the joy and opportunities that still exist for change. To stay lifted up, I meditate throughout the day, starting with my morning walks.
Walking meditation helps me stay in the present moment when life pulls me into fears of the future or regrets about the past. The present moments are shelters from the painful thoughts that drag us down into the doldrums of despair. It’s difficult to suppress the empathy we feel for those who are suffering; we want to feel the strong emotion of empathy without being crushed by it. When we feel strongly, we seek ways to change. Sometimes, we have to “walk it out.”
We spend so much time going from one place to another or moving from one spot in our homes or offices to another. The world is moving quickly, but where are we going?
A few months ago, I visited a labyrinth with one of my neighbors. We located an indoor labyrinth in a small chapel of a church. The first impression I had was that the room was quiet, like a nun’s retreat center I used to visit for workshops years ago in Maryland. The quiet encouraged me to whisper as I noticed how closed off from the bustling traffic of the outside streets this precious space was. We took off our shoes after entering and noticed a small table with some cards and literature placed lovingly, and sitting unobtrusively on the table in the small foyer entrance. The large, beautiful labyrinth of inlaid marble lay before us, inviting us to enter, so after an initial prayer of intention, we began to travel slowly into the labyrinth. After about 25 minutes, I reached the center and experienced the extraordinary calm of being there. After another prayer of awareness as we stood in the center, I began the journey back through the labyrinth to the entrance. Upon returning, I gave thanks for the experience and loving presence walking with us. But the entrance seemed different when I returned to it. I had changed, so it seemed different because I was.
Life changes us in subtle ways when we experience it fully, when we move through it, and when we move inwardly. Often, where we start is where we finish. We travel so far along life’s journey and end where we began. The walk through the labyrinth raised questions: Where am I going? What makes it better there? What is okay right now? The answers are always in the questions. If life is evolving in a manner that raises questions, choose to walk it out.
Peace and blessings,
Eleanor
A message from the chapel: On your journey through the labyrinth, you have time to reflect on your own journey. Go slowly, there is no rush. Let your mind wander. Take your time. Location: Myers Park United Methodist Church, Francis Chapel Labyrinth
