I have walked the Straight Labrynth to and from my tent many times, and each time I’ve asked myself on the way to it, “What will I leave?” and on the way from it, “What will I take?” Often these questions referred to material possessions. Over time, they came to take on a spiritual dimension. (On Sunday I walked it one more time [but not the last time] to get the last of my gear, left here for a week to dry out.)
Did I tell you it rained almost the entire eight days? That same tropical storm that left parts of South Carolina flooded reached a finger up into Middle Tennessee.
I was unprepared. Everything got wet. Near the end, it got cold and wet. No matter. I had a magnificent time.
So, what will I leave? I’m going to leave my need to push others to recognize truth as I perceive it. Loved ones claim to appreciate this character trait (The last time I heard about was the night before my wedding. Both the husband and our daughters said they like it about me.) I have my doubts. It seems to me that it’s caused more strife than peace.
I won’t be able to just stop discerning truth. How would I interact with the world at all if I did that? But I can be much more mindful about pushing my concluded truth on others. The truth is, it doesn’t do any good. No one is ever able to convince me of a damn thing. Why would I think they would receive my truth any differently?
Man, this is going to be hard.
I’m going to take with me a renewed resolve to eat as a vegetarian. My body responded joyously to the food this week.
I’m going to evaluate my camping gear with the goal of lightening my load while becoming dryer. By the end of this week, the bottom forth of my sleeping bag was wringing wet.
I’m going to walk more.
I’m going to come back here often. It’s only an hour and a half away. Even if only for a day or overnight, or just a cup of coffee from the French press, I need this place, this sanctuary.