Pa was always a walker. Up to the day he closed his practice, he walked almost every morning from the big house on Penn Avenue to his office on the west side of the river. He’s not complained once about any walk we’ve taken.
So I suggested over coffee that we walk the 4 miles to Ōhori-kōen Garden.
On the north side of the city,
it was designed using techniques from the Middle Ages.
Having mused that he’s more medieval than modern, I was sure Pa would be up for it. And he was.
“When do we start?”
By ten, we were walking at a brisk pace so as to cover the distance. But each walk is different. You never know who might show up.
This morning it was Thich Nhat Hahn:
Walking meditation is a practice to bring body and mind together. When we walk in a mindful way, we bring our body and our mind back together.
Wherever we walk, whether it’s on the street,
or at the market,
we are walking on the earth and so we are in a holy sanctuary.
Thich’s calming words slowed us down.
Fruits and vegetables
looked fresher.
Streams and structures
complemented each other.
Parks and power lines
offered their unique pleasures.
Suggesting beauty is what brings inner peace, Pa brought up the notion of aesthetics.
Thich, while not disagreeing, spoke softly:
When we walk reverently, we generate the energies of peace and mindfulness.
It seemed that Thich and Pa were both right.
Stopping at an elementary school, Pa wondered when a young mind should be introduced to beauty, as well as to meditation.
We all agreed it should be as a child.
Pa then posed a second question:
Should the aesthetic experience inform meditation, or should meditation direct the aesthetic experience?
Sort of a silly question, I thought, but Pa was in the mood to debate.
“I’m going with meditation,” I told him. “It provides the necessary foundation.”
Pa was itching to weigh in, but before he could, we arrived at Ōhori-kōen Garden and the question was answered.
Of course, it was the “Garden“ that came before all else.
Nature’s innocence,
and its intelligence.
Before lights were necessary to illuminate this way or that,
and bridges were needed to go from here to there.
Long before there was a path,
or a way,
so that others might direct us.
Pausing to listen to the fall of water,
we felt resolved.
But as we neared the exit, Pa expressed a mild regret:
“I’m sorry that, late in life when I had the opportunity, I didn’t live a simpler one,
closer to nature.”
On the walk back,
we each dwelt in our own needs and desires.
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