Cold thighs and cold thoughts.

I ran towards the west. Within moments, I realized it was too cold. Snowflakes battered my face and hands. I knew why I was doing this. Running is my meditation and it had been far too long. But even in the cold, I didn't stop this time. I didn't turn around. I kept on. First my fingers went numb. Then the tops of my thighs. Then my calves. I ran faster, hoping that I could turn on some inner reserve of heat to keep from freezing. At first, I only felt cold.

I stopped at a small bridge only half a mile away. I stared at the slowly moving stream, the rusty iron bars that held the bridge up, and the spray-painted '93' that marked where the great flood had risen.

I turned back, still freezing. But as I neared my parking spot, I realized something. I wasn't cold anymore. Everything was warm. So I ran on, past my car, going East. I'd never gone running in the snow before. It was... amazing. It was beautiful.

I saw a hawk flying above the cliffside, gliding on the frigid wind.

I so often feel like a domesticated animal, sitting at my computer, eating processed food, driving my old man car. But this wasn't easy. It was hard. And so wonderful. For a half hour, I wasn't so domesticated. I ran, cold and steaming... like I should be.

I want so very badly, to learn how to live like this. I want to push myself out of my comfort zone and into the wild.

2014 - The appalachian trail. Hopefully that will be a step in the right direction.

Thoughts on Thoreau

It's Friday evening already. I've been here three days.  Thanks to the ambitions of my friends, I find myself reinvigorated to the possibilities of life.

It's amazing what a few years can do. Life is change. It's always a challenge to love the present - all while accepting that it will slip away.  I can't decide whether time is my mistress or muse. I have an unhealthy obsession with her. That's why, after visiting Thoreau's cabin at Walden Pond today, I felt an overwhelming urge to leave my plans behind and do something as simple as living in a cabin.  What a bold statement!

I will not be controlled by time.
I will live simply
and in harmony with nature.
I will not give in to panic.
I will not give in to the elements.
I will be.

For over 100 years, people have been bringing stones to the site of Thoreau's old cabin. These are people who have ventured from around the world to see with their own eyes where this man lived simply.  The pile is huge - larger and wider than the site of the actual cabin.  There are even stones engraved with the birth and death dates of the dead. 

I suppose I now find irony in that.  Regardless of our reaction, panic-ridden or calm, time still consumes us.  I supposed that's what truly matters. Death might be out of our control - but the way we react to it is not.  We decide. 

I see something similar in the 23rd Psalm as it talks about walking in the valley of the shadow of death. Something few people notice is how important that setting is.  Our lives are lived in this valley - with the shadow creeping closer every day. But the author isn't fazed. "you prepare a table before me."

This guy sits down and eats a meal. In the face of death.

And all while this shadow looms close, he believes that "goodness and mercy" follow even closer. 

So chill. 

So brave.

I want this.