You can take your Body on vacation, but your mind may need to get away--
I've just returned from 8 days of being away from home, vacation, and although I didn't venture that far away, just 2 hours north of San Francisco, I attempted to go far away from my every day routine. I tried to stay off of the laptop, to not be tied to reading emails, doing work, thinking about consulting, teaching, training, writing, thinking--but, it was difficult. I realized that it was more difficult than ever to turn off the switch, and just relax. I took my bike, and took 2 books, Frances May's "A Year in the World" and David Sedaris' "When you are Engulfed in Flames." They were for my mental distraction, as was my fully-loaded iPod. But, for the first 2-3 days, distractions didn't seem to do the trick.
I was riding my bike through Armstrong Woods State Park, one of the gems of all parks, whisking through the giant redwoods, and finding a secluded picnic table, where I sat and read=and listened to the birds, and the sound of children laughing, and told myself to be quiet, to rest, to relax, to let it all go.
I reread the words of Jesus, "come to me, all who are heavy burdened, and rest, for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light," still, nothing. I read it again, I prayed it, I thought it, I visualized it, I prayed it some more. I wanted to dump all of my thoughts in the river--and, then, I knew that what I needed to do was to stop trying SO hard to relax, and well, just relax.
So, I started.
A walk by the river, a stroll by the little shops, morning coffee on the deck watching the canoes, kayaks, gulls and hummingbirds. A massage (an amazing massage--with special emphasis on my shoulders and neck=-Thanks, Masada!) and, music, and laughter, and sketching in my new sketchbook.
I relaxed. I could not fix anything from there, could not fix any relationships, or damaged friendships, or pay big bills, or find new work, or restore or preserve anything. All I could do, and, all I should do, was rest. I read my books, listened to the music, breathed in the river and ocean air. Slept as much as I wanted, ate well, drank well, had conversations with old friends, laughed.
I looked at Margaret's garden, and thought of my own garden: and, then I rested knowing that I could return to my own plot of beauty on the earth, to my own garden, planted with my own hands. I dreamed of planting, and digging, and touching the soil. I thought about the smell of my land, the pleasure of watering. The feel of the blistering sun. Maybe I wasn't relaxing there, because I'm not relaxing here: in my own space. I could rest better at home, and, then, on the 8th day, we pulled in front of the house, and, I felt my body loosen, and my heart beat slowed, and then, I relaxed.
I was riding my bike through Armstrong Woods State Park, one of the gems of all parks, whisking through the giant redwoods, and finding a secluded picnic table, where I sat and read=and listened to the birds, and the sound of children laughing, and told myself to be quiet, to rest, to relax, to let it all go.
I reread the words of Jesus, "come to me, all who are heavy burdened, and rest, for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light," still, nothing. I read it again, I prayed it, I thought it, I visualized it, I prayed it some more. I wanted to dump all of my thoughts in the river--and, then, I knew that what I needed to do was to stop trying SO hard to relax, and well, just relax.
So, I started.
A walk by the river, a stroll by the little shops, morning coffee on the deck watching the canoes, kayaks, gulls and hummingbirds. A massage (an amazing massage--with special emphasis on my shoulders and neck=-Thanks, Masada!) and, music, and laughter, and sketching in my new sketchbook.
I relaxed. I could not fix anything from there, could not fix any relationships, or damaged friendships, or pay big bills, or find new work, or restore or preserve anything. All I could do, and, all I should do, was rest. I read my books, listened to the music, breathed in the river and ocean air. Slept as much as I wanted, ate well, drank well, had conversations with old friends, laughed.
I looked at Margaret's garden, and thought of my own garden: and, then I rested knowing that I could return to my own plot of beauty on the earth, to my own garden, planted with my own hands. I dreamed of planting, and digging, and touching the soil. I thought about the smell of my land, the pleasure of watering. The feel of the blistering sun. Maybe I wasn't relaxing there, because I'm not relaxing here: in my own space. I could rest better at home, and, then, on the 8th day, we pulled in front of the house, and, I felt my body loosen, and my heart beat slowed, and then, I relaxed.
posted by Downtown Don Simmons at
7:49 PM
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