Footprints in the Mud

A quote has me stymied. I must dig deeper.

Day 213. I saw Eat Pray Love today. It left me with a comment and a question. Comment: I must get to Bali. Question: How in the heck did Liz Gilbert FUND that particular year? I'm absolutely certain I could write a heckuva blog if someone would just foot the bill for me to travel around the world. Africa and Nepal are high on my list (in case destination has any impact on donations).

I can always tell when zazen is following me around off the cushion. Metaphors are everywhere! In the moment, they all seem eloquently blog worthy. When I sit at the keyboard, however, the profundity often fades. I am suddenly unable to recall what it was, exactly, that the bobby pin caught in a dust bunny under my bed stood for.

While skirting around the lake (with last night's rain, I think it still qualifies) during doggie visitation this evening, I thought about footprints. My footprints, and my tendency to hike back to a beginning point retracing the exact path I trekked on my way out. I'm sure it is rooted primarily in OCD (most of my behavior is). I must acknowledge my neurons sing with gusto each time my tennis shoe fits precisely in a previous print. Today the dogs and I boldly hiked where we have never gone before. The water was down sufficiently to navigate around a point at the far north end of the lake. We tromped through glorious, oozing, ankle deep mud and then romped along the west bank. New terrain. No footprints but ours as we trampled robustly upon the sand and mud.

As I applied my rudimentary tracking skills on our walk back to the car, I noticed that the footprints on the dry, firm sand had been fairly quickly erased by the ebbing north breeze. The deep, soggy prints left by my size 8's in the red mud stood out like the lighted path along an airplane aisle. It occurred to me that walking along in the sand had been effortless and fast paced. Slogging through the muddy sections had been slow going. Lifting my mud coated Nikes out of the sucking earth and placing my foot down in the next sinkhole worked every muscle in my lower body. Each step took effort - both physically and mentally. My shoes were cumbersome and heavy to lift; progress required working my core to stay upright in the sticky clay. My mind had to direct my vigilant eyes to the next reasonable place to set a foot down - hopefully without sinking up to my knees. I didn't mind at all mud from the shins down, but suspected I would feel differently if I landed in it face first.

Halfway back to the car, the metaphor hit. Stepping easily and mindlessly across the smooth sand created footprints that quickly vanished. My quick, casual pace didn't leave much of a mark. By the time I headed back to the Xterra, it was difficult to tell I had recently tread along the same path. I came, I went, without much to show for it. Sometimes that it is good way to trek through life. Lightly and effortlessly. Moving without thinking much about it.

Like my footprints in the mud, the aspects of life that require effort, time, care, and attention usually last longer. They are imprinted more deeply. They take more out of me, but are there long after my original energy expenditure. Kind of like the Egyptian pyramids. They took a lot of effort, and have lasted a really long time. I am thinking of the long route to my Ph.D., the building of my business, the raising of my son, and - yes - the writing of my blog. Lots of energy output. Hopefully, each of those pieces of my life last a long, long time.

Zazen practice is like a footprint in the mud. Every night, I attempt to approach it with care, intent, and mindful attention. I feel it imprinting deeply within my core. Also in my core, I know it will last for a very long time.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc