The Walkabout

Because I am not running in a marathon until sometime in the spring of 2008, I am not following a marathon training plan. Because of this, I often times find myself walking great distances, either before or after my running session, and sometimes both. For whatever reason, my internal being has a need these days to WALKABOUT.

I do not ignore reality on my Walkabouts. I take my cell phones, both of which have unlimited data plans with unlimited email and text capabilities. Both also have cameras. I accept and return business calls, emails, and texts. My thinking is that I can do these tasks while sitting at my desk, or I can do them while walking. I can meet my professional obligations while also feeding my soul.

I have decided to structure my Walkabout time so that I am not completely sucked into a virtual reality. For me, getting sucked into work is a natural occurrence. I must discipline myself by not taking the phones with me during my running portion. I am to complete my run in good faith and then I may retrieve the phones from my car. Even then, I need to limit my talk time to calls which are critical. This is because I need to use the walk time, in part, to think without a fast-beating heart.

The term "Walkabout" is an Australian term referring to the belief that Australian Aborigines "go walkabout" at the age of thirteen in the wilderness for six months as a rite of passage. They then trace the path of the ceremonial ancestors of their tribe, following the exact route that those ancestors took, and imitating in a fashion, their heroic deeds. These paths are known as the Songlines.

Songlines are an intricate series of song cycles that identify landmarks and subtle tracking mechanisms for navigation. These songs often evoke how the features of the land were created and named during the Dreaming. The Dreaming Spirits as they traveled across the Earth, created and named trees, rocks, waterholes, animals and other natural phenomena.

I believe my recent need to Walkabout is based at least in part upon a metaphoric need to trace the path of my ancestors and to experience their songlines. Perhaps in doing so I will gain a spiritual tracking mechanism for navigation, if indeed the dreaming spirits of my ancestors created and named landmarks for my journey.

Of course, our ancestors do mark our journey to a large degree. Our parents form us, either with love or with hatred, or worse, with a sloppy mixture of love and hatred. Their parents formed them. It is an endless line. The question is whether I want to follow the guided marks established for me, or whether I want to deviate and listen for another songline.

There is no clear cut answer, but what is clear is that I cannot listen for a new songline without first hearing the songline left for me by my ancestors, and understanding fully the landmarks of its landscape. The songline is sometimes loud and unambiguous. Sometimes it is faint. It is nonetheless ever-present.

So it goes that I will turn off my electronic devices, at least for a time, in an effort to hear more clearly. I will also turn down the volume of noise and clutter which is the background orchestra to my life. I will not drown the trace sounds of the songlines meant for me, but I will listen carefully.

First though, I must complete the run which opens my heart and soul. Two days ago I ran in the unseasonably warm 63-degree weather. Prior to the run I received a call from a friend with whom I indulged myself with a talk. She was cooking, her form of meditation, and I was running. A harmonic convergence was in order. It was a worthy indulgence.

After our talk, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, on a path not previously known. While talking with my friend, I wandered away from my familiar routes, in an effort to avoid traffic noise. While not paying attention to my direction, I ended on a road which I did not recognize. I had a general idea of my coordinates, but this road was a mystery. It was a beautiful road, called Riverview, and there was a steep embankment, up which I climbed. At the top, there was a grass pedestrian path. To the right was a short wall over which I could look down and see a river. To the left, down the embankment, was a hazardous road where cars whizzed by with no thought of pedestrians.

This path to me was a great metaphor for life itself, with beauty in our view, and hazard in our reach. I felt it was no accident that I discovered the path while immersed in the moment with my friend. I had allowed myself to be moved to another space, both physically and spiritually.

Unfortunately, I had an appointment to keep, and so I removed myself from the path, and sprinted in a direction that I hoped would carry me back to my familiar route. A warm rain began to fall and I felt exhilarated by the rain and the run. I wished no end to the run.

I found my familiar path, and I returned.

For a moment, on the run, I heard the faint songline meant for me which allowed for me to experience true freedom from the confines of those things which have blocked my ability to hear: The negative people and forces. The inflicted pains, physical and mental. The incessant desire to fill, rather than to empty.

The songline told me that I am to transform and to reach and to receive, and that I can define myself, rather than allow for others to define me. I can shut off the noise and tune out that which is inconsistent with my definition of self. I can with impunity shuttle the demons away and behind me.

For now, I will head out for another run, in the cold. It may be just another run. I don't know. I never know when a run will turn into a lesson. What I do know is that I must continue along the path as best as I can.