A Great Summer Saunter

"We should go forth on the shortest walk, perchance, in the spirit of undying adventure, never to return; prepared to send back our embalmed hearts only, as relics to our desolate kingdoms."
-Thoreau, "Walking"

You all keep asking me if I am excited about my trip--I leave May 18th, by the way--but I find it hard to anticipate. I've got papers to grade, late taxes to sort, a room to organize, yoga to practice, dancing to do, saunters to take!

Alas, I didn't even have time to bake for Shakespeare's birthday this year. How far I've fallen from the mince pie days. . . . William, can you forgive me?

However, I will admit that during the DAT conference call on April 23rd, I finally felt it. I put the phone on mute, smacking the desktop and shouting AOOOOOOOO! about all the great things we'll be doing--for the community and as a byproduct, ourselves! Long bus rides, altitude changes, refurbishing the old building for the community center, learning Spanish, learning about the environment, teaching kids, hiking to summits far away from civilization, and writing about it all to create a piece of theatre, which we will share with you in New York in July. Stay tuned for that.

But before that, there's now.


In the space between the moment where you chuck a bottle out to sea and the moment it washes up on its next shore, there's a lot to learn and do while drifting. Actually, I've been surfing since Truth & Dare. After returning from a perfect, rainy, sublime Easter in Vancouver, where I spent every moment in the moment, I jumped right back into that New York state of anticipation, but last weekend I escaped again, joining a friend on The Great Saunter. The Saunter traces the perimeter of New York City--32 miles of it from 7.30 am to 7.30 pm.

So many discoveries lie quiet along "the long way." In New York, we rush from place to place, continually reverting inward to that robotic state we pride ourselves in, the state that enables us to 1. tune out crazy strangers and 2. figure out the fastest subway from Queens to Brooklyn-- without going through Manhattan (there is none). Once the novelty of this city-game wears off, the habit becomes exhausting, and it keeps us out of NOW; it wastes the moment by focusing on "where will I be?" It denies the people and places around us--even when we justify it as "for our own safety." We arrive at a destination on the opposite shore of this lonely island in record time and in one piece! --without a single memory of the path there. No adventure, no moment, no great saunter . . .

"What business have I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods?"

Last Saturday, we threw out the subway maps and time constraints; we let the shoreline lead us and show us the many quiet sculptures that watch the water day in and out--like St. Paul's Cathedral watches London while its movers move. When I stopped trying to lead, I was led by the movement of a simple intention to walk. I cast myself out of bed and onto the foggy water's edge. My friends and the early summer morning led the way.



And even though I did have to cut my saunter short by my own choice to respect the responsibility of "work"--I made time for both. Every moment I can remind myself of the moment, the more I can enjoy the drift or float or tempest that directs my journey. I don't know where I will wash up, but there are so many directions to go and only one bottle to ride. I have learned of late--for many things: the "long way" is better.

Hitchhike a while on mine if you like. I'll send you postcards.

xo J.

(photos 1, 3, 4 by Christina R.)