Once upon a pandemic (perhaps a week ago or a few hundred years ago), I head out for a walk in the nearby forest. The path is unfamiliar. I wander, not too aware of my surroundings. I know that these woods are not all that deep, but a sense of direction has never been my gift. I know I will find my way to familiar terrain by moving forward steadily, but on a more primitive level, I have to confront a nagging sense of unease. The fear of the unfamiliar is a powerful force.
Something compels me to pause. Two colorful objects, nestled into the nooks of the tree trunks, hook my attention. Some time ago (months or hundreds of years) my children had painted and left these very rocks for future explorers to discover. #KindnessRocks greet me, to show me that I’d been here before. In an instant, while nothing outwardly shifts, the unfamiliar becomes the familiar. The place where I am is no different, but my perspective is. My relationship with it is. It is the relationship with the unfamiliar that transforms the unknown to the known. That replaces fear with wonder. That replaces unease with ease. These two rocks, a compass.
In subsequent visits, I slow down. Time does not slow down, but I do. I set out with intention to widen my field of awareness. I listen. Water flows over here. Was the water so clear last time? I breathe. Pine. Was the cushion of fallen pine needles underfoot this soft before? Birds singing. Were the chickadees calling from tree to tree before now? Moss on the rocks. Was the green ever before quite this vibrant?
I don’t really know how deep these woods are. I don’t know that I won’t overlook the kindness rocks next time. I do know that the transformation from unrest to peace is attainable and accessible, as long as I remember, not where to look, but how.
