headTalk.

Its wetness permeating my skin
     now wrapped around me as a veil.

Solitude forming the disguise of comfort,
     choking my every breath.

Muting the pigment, slowing the pace,
     where mind controls span and reason.

Alone in woods where no other mortal can be found,
     my solitude.

When I hike on autopilot I often pick a small twig off the ground as I walk and break it down slowly into smaller and smaller sections. When I’m down to a few pieces no longer than an inch or two, I pick the two closest in length discard the rest and spin the remaining pieces around each other between my thumb and forefingers in both hands over and over. I do all this without even thinking about it. It seems I can’t get over the need to be doing something even while attempting to do nothing. My mind at this point is completely occupied by thought and so my body must find a way to stimulate itself. The sights, sounds, smells, and feelings surrounding me are ignored by my busy ‘conscious’ mind. My feet and legs are busy pumping me forward and so my ‘subconscious’ mind must find something for my hands and arms to do.

It bothers me that my whole body can’t be at peace or at rest with my mind. I decided one day several months ago to try to bring all my parts into synchronization with each other. I can’t remember how many miles I had left to go on that trip, but I was so determined not to pick up another twig for the duration that I stuck the two I was currently carrying into my pocket as a reminder for myself. I take the two pieces of twig with me in my pocket now whenever I hike.

I actually feel kind of silly now seeing this in type. I mean, who carries two inch and a half twigs in their pocket religiously? How silly is that. I think my body has tricked me into believing the act of placing two old twigs in my pocket worked. Now I’m just doing other things with my hands, especially when I’m holding a leash with a beast on the other end. But, inside my pocket those two twigs represent something to me so there they will stay.

[originally posted June 2006]

Short trip to Bull Run Mountains. Sitting on High Point Cliffs. Eyes closed, slight breeze, bright sun. Taking in the sounds and sensations that say so much more than what my eyes can see.

[originally posted October 2006]

There are places in this world that reach right though me. I’ve been carrying this place with me for a few weeks now. Don’t know if it was the canopy overhead or the still, quiet water, or both, but I’m truly glad I experienced it.

[originally posted July 2007]