|Not wild, but evocative|
Why is it when deadlines are looming, meetings are scheduled back-to-back and top-to-bottom, and my schedule is full, my heart wanders to wilder places?
Could it be that my heart knows what my soul needs?
A short ride in a direction opposite from the traffic. An hour of playing hookie. Up the mountain, down the mountain, a trail that is most definitely not on the way to work. Directly the opposite direction from work, in fact.
Alternatively, a brief diversion from commute to work to walk through the cool green grass barefoot. And the bare feet enjoying the feel of the ground beneath them urge me to walk to work, there and back, to feel earth's equal and opposite force.
Voyager 1 is entering the heliopause, I read today. A space probe that we sent up, on the verge of leaving our solar system. Wilder places. My heart beyond the blue blue sky above.
The heart wanders because it knows. Sure, I steer it back to today, the necessary, the structured, the scheduled tasks, the to-do list and the obligations. These structures make other things possible, so I do them.
But there's this place beside a lake. With pine trees aching in the summer sun, and loons calling. And endless paths through hushed woods across blankets of pine needles. My heart knows about that place because it took me there before. But that was in a time of sorrow, one deep, sleepless, and harsh, one which has now been assigned its corner to rest in something like peace. So my heart is saying that we should go back to those woods, a kind of wild place, a lake where motors are forbidden and the snow and ice lay deep right now. I'll go when the sun is shining again. Some day. For now, here, it's the local wild places calling. I had better listen.
But: what is "wild"? It's where my heart wanders. Where my brain thinks maybe we shouldn't go, because of the schedule, the calendar, the tasks, the due dates. It's right over there, though. Up that street. Down that path. Around that corner. Somewhere on a bicycle. Get up. Go ride.