I went for a run the other day, along a trail by my home. It travels through forests, crossing roads and going through the back of people’s yards. The point of these trails is to get everyone out into the beauty of nature, get some exercise and enjoy a part of your life.
The trail leads to a beautiful watershed area. I take my two dogs along with me, and we run five or six miles. When I run, I am prepared with my I-pod which is tuned up with some neat audio book on meditation, hypnosis, Buddhist philosophy or podcasts about some interesting topic. I figure that I can take the time while I am running (and giving all three of us some nice exercise) to increase my knowledge of things important to me and my practice at the Center for Mindful Change. Although I had hiked for years, miles and miles on one trail or another every week when I was growing up without the comfort of any kind of distracting devise, I somehow began to believe that it was necessary to have something to help me think while I was doing something somewhat lonely or boring. Looking back now, I realize that, during the most boring and uneventful hikes I introduced myself to a meditative state that I have practiced for years.
I decided at the beginning of this run, though, to run without my i-pod. My brain pushed for all of the good reasons I should just put my ear-buds in and start running: I may get really bored with the silence, I might get tired on my run without the distraction, I will ‘waste’ this time that I can use for learning. I thought, “and so what if all that happens?”; I will do an experiment, and left the i-pod at home.
We began our run; a slow jog to knock the kinks out. I started to really notice the day, which was glorious and perfect in temperature. I noticed the colors of the bushes and late season flowers and I saw that leaves were arriving to rest on the trail from their summer homes up high in the tees. I actually smelled the complicated aromas of the air, and saw the way the sun through the trees made a three dimensional diagram on the trail. I could hear the various creatures scampering away to safety in the woods. I noticed that the swans on the water had a new group of little ones, and I searched for the bald eagle that sits in the tree, making the swan parents nervous. I thought: “This is what it means to be present!” There was no boredom, I felt more energetic on this run and I was learning about the moment. My dogs just ran along, as if it were any other day, perpetually present and available to all experiences.
As we approached the end of our run, and I was fully in my experience of being present and aware, and noticing how content and serene I had become, I tripped over a root and went sprawling, the dogs’ leashes flying out of my hands and, for a moment they kept running, attentive to what they knew. Then they stopped and I became their concern, as they ran over to me and with their noses, tried to help me up. As I stood up and felt my sore, scraped knee and brushed myself off, I realized that being present in the moment does not preclude an uncomfortable incident from happening, as things are happening all the time in our lives, but I did not care to allow myself to feel as if my tripping was anything but an experience, separate from who I really am.