What a difference going on a walk and moving one’s own limbs can make in the trajectory of things. Taking in the scene, feeling part of the backdrop, whilst drinking up the wind and soaking in the solar dust is sometimes exactly what the doctor ordered. Almost always is. 

There are express moments in which the spirit screams to get into own’s own body and out of the broiling, knotted noggin. A type of release is called for, bubbling over into a powerful urge to move, to dance, to leap, to galavant off into a field somewhere, running with no fixed destination in mind. The spirit craves it. The heart seeks it. The feet itch for it. 

This calling to roam free range and wild is nothing other than an invitation to the dance that nature’s hand extends, luring you off into the night, twirling you into yourself and then spinning you out again into the world to spot the magic, savour and spread any encountered wonder. 

And it is only the acceptance of this invitation that leads one to truly encounter joy, having finally opened oneself up to it. And that is the price of admission—open arms. Like a window that has had all its boards knocked down, there is space for the light to finally shine in and brighten up the place. 

This being able to go out into the world and pan for gold, sieving sand from splendor is an art requiring finesse, flexibility, and a sure step. This capacity to experience——taking the good, holding space, but ultimately leaving behind what doesn’t serve, gently, gracefully, oh so gently, needs attention and time to acquire. One that I hope to hone and polish, smoothing any rough edges and then slipping into my pocket, pulling out time and again to refine with emery cloth.   

Lately, I’ve been trying to collect all the nuggets of gold I find throughout the week and then at the end, take them out one by one, fingering them fondly, holding space for each one. They come in different shapes and sizes, here are but a few: 

• The full force of a blustery wind that held my weight and surged me with energy.
• A sparrow flitted past me, pulling me out of myself and invoking presence and careful attention. 
• Mom and I sat and rocked in chairs, watching the dusk swirl onto stage.
• Dancing to tapping tunes with a dear heart. 
• Feeling the twang of castanets beneath my fingers. 
• Reading in a corner chair in the wee hours of the morning, when all is silent and still, except for the steam curling out of my tea mug. 
• Riding the bus. Breathing in the here, taking in the now.