“I spent the summer traveling; I got halfway across my back yard.” – Aldo Leopold
This is a quote I have been seeking to achieve for a few years now. Normally I get across my back yard, through my front, and even deep into the neighborhood after just a few hours. I’ve got some work of slowing to accomplish. I am a journeyer. The trail is merely a means to an end. The success is the summit, the lake, the waterfall, the fruit, the last page, the graduation, etc. Tension arises when those journeying with me need a break. Tension arises when those journeying with me get distracted by the current views. Tension arises when those journeying with me slow me down.
I’ve gotten better at hiding my annoyance. Does that count? Probably not. I have learned to enjoy the trees within the forest, even when a treeless summit with endless views to the distant horizon awaits. Still, the longing to reach the tree line nags within my soul. I am a work in progress. I am on a pilgrimage of self, attempting to embrace the process without so much thought toward the result.
One of my mentors from another millenia (Lao Tzu) said,
“Knowing others is intelligence;
knowing yourself is true wisdom.
Mastering others is strength;
mastering yourself is true power.”
I tend to find myself a strong, intelligent person. That’s not a complement. My pilgrimage needs to slow itself. I need to slow myself. I need to think more about myself until I forget myself. This paradox is difficult to achieve. My yard helps.
When gardening, my plants take no notice of me. They perform their task and then let go of the fruit. This is another Lao Tzu idea. The task is made easier if I fertilize, prune, and care for the plant, but the plant never takes direct notice of my effort. Sure, it may flourish as a result of my help, but I get no credit from the plant. This is good for me. Agape, as I understand it, is the care for others without any benefit to self. I’m not great at this. Gardening grows me. (pun intended)
Friday (after our cohort gathering) I am taking my youngest son snowshoeing for his first time. I want to chase a snow shelter. I want to get a view. I want to see the sunset from the summit. I want…….him to enjoy himself. I want him to lead. I want him to accomplish his goals and teach me the joy of seeing another flourish at an activity I love. I want to join him on a pilgrimage rather than a journey.
1 comment
A profound reflection, here, Nathan. And I resonate so deeply with the ritual of gardening and its power to invite a more sustainable pace. I wonder if you can name what drives you out of that pace? It sounds like achievement, but I’m wondering how you would describe it.