trail strange

After I worked an unexpected shift at the Channel Islands YMCA Saturday morning, I drove to my Starbucks and got a coffee. People were happy to see me, and my favorite table was empty and available, like it’s been almost every time I’ve been there the last couple of weeks, which also made me happy – along with being the cause of happiness.

It may have been at that table, it may have been seven hours earlier drinking coffee after meditating on the zafu, maybe while writing my Pages, or any point in between. At one of those times I got to think about all the walking I’ve been doing these past four and a half months, especially the hiking, and that the attention to the lay of the path and – I know, more scary creatures – the ever-possibility of rattlesnakes sunning themselves on the hardpack, that hyper-vigilant attention, has produced within me and through me, even as me, something akin to a meditative state. Single-pointed mind. While moving.

So when back to the trailer for a meal I gathered a number of books walking/hiking related, and one was my very own “Astoria Strange,” specifically for the story “Turnaround Place.” A tale of movement.

I sat in a chair alone later Saturday night and read “Turnaround Place,” and I wept when I finished. Because it’s good. Because I did something good. Something that counts. I did good.