The other day, as I was walking along the shore, I found myself becoming more and more present. I wanted that, because that’s where joy is and that’s the whole point. And also because when my old and somewhat stiff body is telling me its troubles, savoring the beauty around me makes the physical discomfort secondary.
Increasingly present, I found myself noticing and admiring more and more of nature’s miracles around me. And then something shifted.
It was as if my awareness partly transcended the place and the time. I was here in Denmark—and somehow I was also in Japan. It wasn’t a memory, it wasn’t a thought. It was a strange experience of the walk here and now and the pilgrimage there and then happening simultaneously, each in its own dimension.
Perhaps because there was the same sense of a strain on the body, and at the same time awe and openness to experience everything as fully as I possibly could. Being present with every step and also knowing I was on my way somewhere. Knowing that sooner or later I will arrive, at the next temple or at the next bench on the path, a place for me to stay for a little while, and rest, in wonder.
I take my time
and then
I can throw it away
