Wrong Way Corrigan

Friday after work I had a few things on my mind, some recent emotional challenges which, because they involve other people, I won't go into detail about, but I decided a walk in Nature was the best prescription for clearing my mind, grounding, and returning to the present. Fortunately, just down the road from where I live is a wonderful park that helps me do that.





So I went to my beloved little park, which I hadn't visited for some time, and discovered that because of some very active Eagle Scouts in the area, it wasn't quite as little as I remembered it. There were new trails leading off into woods and parts of the area previously unreachable, so with some excitement and great gratitude I headed off to explore.

What a gift! You know when you're playing a video game, and there's an area that is tantalizingly right there but the way is blocked until you unlock some clue, or attain some object, or play a special tune on your ocarina? That's how it felt. Like something had suddenly fallen into place and suddenly I was allowed access into this grand and glorious part of the map that I could previously only marvel about.

So I wandered, and when I had gotten a ways I realized it was getting late and I'd better head back. I looked around and saw a path branching off of the one I was on in the direction I thought I needed to go, so rather than retrace my steps I followed this trail. I followed it up to the top of a hill where I found I was not too far away from a barn. Huh. And cows. Hmm... "Holy crap! That's the farm I look at from the other side of the lake!" I was not where I thought I was. In fact I was on the opposite side of the lake from where I wanted to be. And it would be dark soon.

In such circumstances, what is the first choice of someone who was raised on the stories of Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone? Head across country of course! I was on a hill, so I could plainly see where it was I wanted to go, and from that vantage it looked easy enough to make a straight line from here to there.

I traded the big trail for a tiny deer trail meandering down the hill through the tall grasses, the whole time praying to the spirits of the land my intentions to do no harm and my gratitude for allowing me to be there. Meanwhile the grasses gave way to thicker and thicker underbrush, including the occasional black berry vine, until at some point I had to stop. The further I went in the harder the way got, and I realized that if I went any further I would be causing damage because I was starting to become desperate and wanting to flail my way through.

When I paused I realized I was still doing what has been ingrained into most of us, that when things get hard you just fight harder to get through. In my determination to get where I was going, or where I thought I should be, I was starting to not care so much about how I got there or the destruction I caused on the way. D'oh!

I turned around and retraced my steps, as best I could, until I finally emerged once again onto the main trail. As I walked, unencumbered on the gravel trail, I kept reminding myself of the Taoism I purport to hold so close to my heart, and it's "water course way" -- the path of least resistance. In Nature, when there are road blocks, it tends to mean you are going the wrong way. You're pushing rather than allowing the natural flow of life. Albeit there are road blocks that are meant to be broken down for our personal and spiritual growth, but if every step is more difficult than the last, and if the undergrowth is pulling at your feet while the overgrowth is pulling at your hair, there's probably a better way to get where you are going.

As I was thinking these things, I stopped and almost laughed out loud. On the trail ahead of me was a single slug, one of my power animals, my own Taoist Master who's message to me is always about the "unhurried life" (read my post Tao of Slug).

I was still musing about Slug, when I rounded a corner in the woods and came face to face with a dog. A big dog. Uncharacteristically of me, I froze. I talked to the dog, but not in the playful, "How you doin' pup dawg?" way I normally do. Moments later the dog's human came around the other corner in the trees and both me and the dog relaxed, she running up to me with tail wagging. The dog not the human.

As I played with the dog, I greeted the woman who asked how I was. I replied "fine," then returned her question. "Okay," she started, then, "Well, not really..." And she went into how she had just found out that day that her dad has an aggressive form of prostate cancer, and everything she was going through concerning that. I just stood there listening until she apologized for too much sharing to a complete stranger. "Not at all," I said, and told her how I just found out a favorite aunt of mine was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer and didn't have long to live. And though I didn't say it, in my thoughts I added, "This is what I do. This is the shamanic path I am on. Being in the right place at the right time to be of service to whomever needs it."

I asked if I could give her a hug, and she paused but a moment before saying, "Sure." I hugged her, felt her sigh, and then she said, "That is really nice."

I realized that sometimes the wrong way is the right way. If I hadn't gone and gotten myself lost and tangled in the woods, I would not have received the lesson (again) about the watercourse way, and I would not have been here, at this point in time and space, comforting this woman.

After the hug, we said our good-byes, and I walked away from this healing encounter with a smile of gratitude on my lips for the magnificent orchestration of the Universe to make such unlikely things possible, and for allowing me to be part of such miracles.

And into my head popped the thought, "Because that's what unicorns do."