Get Lost; Expand Beyond
I was told by more than one that to get to this wee lake in Mt. Shasta I should expect to get lost. And then it would magically reveal itself suddenly once I’d pop up over a ridge. You know what?
They were right.
So much so that Lexie, my mom’s dog, at one point wouldn’t go further, looking at me like, “Um, you’re clearly lost and I'm thinking maybe the way to go is back down, yo!” But instead, I convinced her I would get us there, and that we were a team. So on we went.
Sometimes I’d take us off target, and sometimes she would. (I learned something about dogs: they can get lost too.) But in the end, I discovered, it was the moments I’d take a pause, tune in to my heart and take in the mountain, breathing — I’d clearly know which way to go again. So, of course, we made it.
And I learned, yet again —
Sometimes we do get lost.
I was there — stuck in the biting wind, the thorny bushes, and disappearing trailheads, as sweat consumed my layers of clothes — pushing back bits of fear that were cropping up when realized I dropped my phone somewhere in the untrailed part, the dog was looking at me sideways, and I literally didn’t know where our destination was anymore even if I logically know it’s out there somewhere — and maaaaaybe I should’ve brought a map (!).
But, it’s there, the way through, if we can just stop.
Stop already and instead connect with our heart, with the heart of the earth, the heart of One. It’s from there, we will be guided.
We will know the best way from where we are. And we will make it to that place where our glorious journey will be reflected back to us in a sweet, silent repose of grace, and likely, amusement.