Hard Hearts on the Path

If you read much Mary Oliver, you'll notice that she pays attention to the natural world and then delicious poems spill out of her in response. It's routine. And delightful. I consider myself a disciple of Mary Oliver, that is, I try to walk in her ways. Going outdoors and letting what grabs you become spiritual content is a discipline, but it can also be a way of life. What I love about her discipline/way-of-life is that it leads to greater reverence for this world, as opposed to other kinds of spiritual disciplines and ways of life that seem to pose themselves at odds with this world in favor of...I don't know, some other world? I have yet to encounter another world. Whatever. This isn't about that.

Yesterday in Oliveresque fashion I found myself delighting in dogs off leash, way back in the woods, trailing where no other humans could be found (except for the one hiking alongside me). The sun was shining like a prize. The sky was crystal blue, with thin, long, knit-blanket looking clouds scattered about. In Michigan, in January, you pray for this scene. Your body's need for vitamin D creates hunger and thirst for this scene. When it arrives--blue on white with shine--you lace up your boots, grab the leash and go, no questions asked. At least that's what you do if you have any sense. Yesterday, after five winters in Michigan, I finally had some sense.

Upon arriving on the path, a friend of mine who is a lifelong Michigander started talking about the conditions of the trail. There was slick and crunch. She explained this by citing the fact that several days of differing weather had resulted in a layering of sorts, which now confronted our feet. In the beginning was dust and grass. Then soft snow packed by hikers before us on the trail. Next, rain fell from the sky and created slush which hardened after a few hours because freezing cold set in. Slush was then topped by another round of not-yet packed snow. All that, right here. Obviously one has to step carefully, plant dutifully, land mindfully in these conditions. It's an ongoing exercise in call and response between ground conditions and one's bodily agility.

Out there on that mixed layered ground environment influences and impacts the form of substance. All of the soft snow, slush, ice, and all those conditions, slick, safe, packed, hard, and soft are about the form water takes on. But it's all water. Its. All. Water. The form and conditions of that water are immensely different based on how they came into this world and what happened to them once they were here.

A couple days ago I got an email from a colleague that pissed me off. She seemed so hard-hearted in her words. I felt shaken reading them, resentful of her, and began questioning the relationship. How could she be so hard? I asked myself in authentically honest meandering. Just a day later, a friend of mine, after having a couple interactions with me that didn't sit right with her, asked me almost the exact same thing. What's up with this hardness?

Going outdoors and letting what grabs you become spiritually content is a discipline but it can also be a way of life. It's a way of life that grows reverence and love for this world, including the hardened hearts you encounter on the path. Water becomes packed, slick ice based on the temperature of its context and whether or not it’s been stepped on (repeatedly). Such a helpful reminder when I'm judging others for their hard ass behavior. Such a helpful reminder when I'm in need of mercy for my own.