The Long Way Home

It was a gray day, a depressing day, the sky low and portending rain. But I was out in it anyway. Went to the barn to see Dorian, who stood in the pasture, his head down. A horse had bitten him in the face and he was feeling poorly. I kissed his cheek and cleaned him up, then we went out to graze a bit and I wished for some clarity, or sun . . . or something to lift the darkness that had been settling over us the past few months.

Something was wrong with Dorian, and I didn’t know what it was. He didn’t look like himself and he wasn’t acting like himself. Blood work, and other evaluations came back ok, so I was struggling to hear what the issue was.

I looked for another barn. Found two. Decided on one, but it was older, and there were only a few horses stabled there. The stall was smaller than Dorian was used to with a narrower walk out. But it had great pasture, a wonderfully diligent person taking care of the horses, nice people, and lush, green, fresh-smelling hay, plus woods with trails. So I agreed to move in. Why, I had no idea. It just seemed right.

I’ve been exploring a lot of things in the past year. Letting my intuition take me to new and interesting areas of thought and experience. Becoming a Reiki master, doing cranial sacral and energy work with Dorian, Tarot, massage, investigating Buddhism and Christianity more deeply, dabbling in astrology . . . But it hasn’t been satisfying, ultimately. Fun, yes. Interesting, yes. Productive . . . yes. And in some ways, I found my pursuits were all paths to the same endpoint—we create our experience and being alert to what needs dispelling results in progress, and healing. That’s reductive, of course, there’s lots more to it. But all the investigating I’d been doing hadn’t somehow gotten to the very core of things for me. And my life began spiraling a bit, and then spiraling a lot.

The Death Card

Recently, I’d done a Tarot card pull, and this was one of the three cards that showed up. Terrifying? No, actually I was ridiculously happy to see it. So often in our experience, things seem to fall horribly apart, but it’s merely a prelude to a new step forward. If we let it be that. If we let the old pass away, and patiently await the next step. Our progress is never simple or linear. It’s a spiral, but upleveling only happens if we’re willing to endure the death of the old.

There was nothing in any direction I recognized.

But back to the story . . . I put Dorian back in his pasture after some grazing and both of us feeling sorry for ourselves. I headed out from the barn and stopped at a nature preserve to collect some kindling. It was to rain, then sleet, then snow the next day and the temperature was due to drop, so I’d be making some fires.

I trudged up the hill with a bag slung over my shoulder. I’d been there before to collect kindling and well, I needed to be by myself in the woods. I turned right and headed up the path, past an old pavilion to where I knew a big tree had been felled and there was a lot of small, dry branches just off the trail. I collected the twigs, snapping the bigger ones, my mind going on and on.

Stillness was all around me, but I was a small whirlwind of anxiety, worry, uncertainty . . . hardly the picture of “letting go” I wanted to be. I looked up at the trees trying to calm and get centered. I gazed out into the forest, wanting so much to become a part of that quietness. But I couldn’t, or didn’t, so bent to my task in that gray, unpleasant day.

 I finally got my bag pretty full and started back to the car. I trudged along, my head down, my mind going on and on, and after a bit looked up to realize I’d gone the wrong way. I have no sense of direction and by the time I raised my head, I was completely lost.

 There was nothing in any direction I recognized.

That morning I’d gone to the gym, did my weight circuit and then hit the treadmill. And then waded out into the pasture for Dorian. I was tired. I was ready to find my car and go home. But that wasn’t going to happen, as it turned out, for a long time.

I stood there on a trail I didn’t know, lost in the wilderness. Well, yeah, I thought, this makes perfect sense. Just exactly how my life had been going of late.

Should I move Dorian? Should I sell my house? Should I quit my job? The questions were numerous and as swirling as the dark gray clouds above me. Had been for months. I’d been feeling lost and abandoned and now, here I was. Literally lost.

Lost . . . But maybe not abandoned. Dorian, with his head over his friend Maverick’s back came to mind—we might feel lost and alone, but there’s solace if we seek it. I looked up at the sky and reached out for guidance. And I thought, since I was sincerely asking for help—from whomever or whatever it was that made me and made all that surrounded me—surely I would be led.

You’d think that would be enough, right? Sincere and heartfelt letting go and willingness to listen and be led?  

I walked forward, quieter now, trusting that I’d soon be on my way home, safe and warm behind the wheel. Instead, the trail wound round and round and then up through switchbacks. Up at a steeper and steeper grade until my legs ached and breathing came hard. Surely, I kept thinking, this has got to be the way . . . I’d done my part, given up control, trusted, been open, willing . . . But the climb just kept getting steeper and when I finally got to the top, there was only more dense woods and more trails. No car, no path to the car, just wilderness.

I stopped on the trail to catch my breath. For some reason I turned and looked up. There was a beautiful, tall, deep green pine swaying in the slight wind. And then the strangest thing happened.

Through the top of the tree boughs, the sun—brilliantly bright—came out and shone straight down on me, into my eyes, blinding me for a moment. The sun had not come out all day, not once. Yet standing in the middle of the forest, lost, alone, exhausted, its rays of light found me. I stood stunned for a moment and then the sun went back behind the clouds.

That was it. There, then gone.

I trudged on. I was certain that I would quickly find the car now, after that sign from the universe. But I didn’t. In fact, I walked for a long, long time before I finally saw the pavilion I’d passed when I’d first turned up the trail to find kindling.

There it was ahead of me. I still didn’t know which way to go to get back to my car, but for some reason, I turned left. As I rounded the corner, I saw the path led downward and a few minutes later, I saw the parking lot and my car.

I’d turned right after collecting my wood, instead of left. And because of that, I’d spent  hours trying to find my way instead of minutes.

I smiled. What a perfect metaphor for my life over the past year. Wandering, searching, groping my way forward. Taking the long way . . .

            Taking the long way home.

And yet, those rays of sunlight on the trail showed me that even when we stray far from the right path, light is still there, still guiding us. Even if we can’t see it every step of the way. For me, that day, it was there, just behind the clouds of my own self-preoccupation.

We don’t have to muscle our way forward. There’s grace in the world, and a gentleness to lead us. Little did I know how immediate Dorian’s recovery would be once I moved him. What some might call “miraculous,” actually, but what I now know is simply the truth made manifest. What was required of me to effect that was trust. Listening, letting whatever needed to die fall away, and trust.

I don’t know what else lies ahead for Dorian and me. But I do know we’ll be walking that path together as we always have, and we won’t have to struggle to find our way home. I have a feeling the lesson is that we’re already there.