Sandra Heska King

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Becoming Mindful in Place: When You Don’t Feel Like Walking

June 24, 2015 By Sandra Heska King

walking

 

I’ve been crying again and don’t really feel like doing this walking assignment for my Becoming Mindful in Place workshop, but I carry my key and a heavy heart out to the garage.

I drive Hope, my new red Jeep, down the paved entrance lined by American flags and through the gate. I bear left, then right, then left, then right again into the “K” section. I pull to the grassy side on the right and park in the usual spot across from the King headstone. My inlaws are buried here under a big maple tree.

I pull dead heads of purple and red petunias from the cement urns on either side of the headstone (where there is room for three more names) and from the marigolds planted on either side. I usually plant red geraniums and white petunias in the urns, red geraniums in the ground. But this year my husband’s cousin took care of “decorating” the grave since her parents lie on the other side.

A youngish woman with short blond hair parks her black Kia five car lengths behind mine, exits and approaches a site on that side of the road. She stands in front of a headstone a few moments with head bowed, then lowers herself to sit cross-legged on the damp grass. I try not to stare.

I turn right (we usually go left) and walk next to the woodsy hill that slopes down to the stream. I’m careful to stay on the paved path for fear of ticks hiding in the undergrowth. The path curves right past the newer, grassy section. Highway traffic rushes by beyond the wooded barrier on my left. I stop several times.

I went to church with LouAnn. She tutored my daughter through high school algebra. She was the first person I ever knew who married someone she’d met on the Internet. Her husband, a Greek Orthodox priest from out west, moved here to Michigan. They buried his mother here.

I worked with Marilyn at the health department. She died in her 40’s from lung cancer after a long fight. She never smoked.

Duane was driving his tractor home when he was hit by a semi. Megan and her mother were killed at a railroad crossing in town when a train hit their car.

Stories. This place is filled with stories, with friends and relatives, with friends of friends and relatives of friends, with names I recognize though never knew. But there are also unknown people and neglected places, toppled and propped up headstones, faded engravings, and a woman marked only as “wife of Ezra” (did nobody know her name?) here in the older, hilly section that’s shaded by several aged trees. I can’t find her today. Maybe her husband’s name was John.

I remember my father-in-law sent me here years ago to collect leaves for a botany class project because he said I wouldn’t find more species of trees in one place than in Maple Hill Cemetery.

 

PicMonkey Collage

reflection

PicMonkey Collage2

 

I hear the town traffic on the other side of the hill, and I ponder the stillness of this center surrounded by busyness of life. How my faith is both strengthened and weakened in this place. How I’m both shaken and settled.

I stroke a concrete tree trunk that at first glance reminds me of a totem pole, but a concrete cross hangs from the top. Vines and ferns tangle around the base, and, further up, the “bark” is peeled back to reveal that George Ward was born in Devonshire, England, and was 65 at death—though the dates on a smaller marker show he was 67. I wonder how much this cost to create.

I see some square, Scrabble-like blocks scattered on the ground and a giant urn planter without a planting. I chase a still unidentified bird through the “baby section” snapping blurry photos with my phone. I stop at one ground level marker to touch the three Matchbox cars that sit atop it. They are free-wheeling, and I marvel that they’ve not been stolen.

I follow the path back to the car, stepping around puddles and over twigs. I stop to pick up a teardrop-shaped petal stamped with a heart.

petal

Madeleine L’Engle wrote, “When I am constantly running there is no time for being. When there is no time for being there is no time for listening. I will never understand the silent dying of the green pie-apple tree if I do not slow down and listen…”

For the next several weeks I’m going to intentionally practice slowing down, becoming mindful in place. I don’t have time for it in this season’s life chaos, which is exactly why I needed to enroll Tweetspeak Poetry’s online workshop of that name. I think they designed it with me in mind. This is a reflection from our second writing assignment, to observe what we see on a walk.

In the stillness,

Sandy

Are you a walker?

What does walking do for you?

If you take a walk today, tell me what you see.

With Laura and Jennifer

Laura Boggess

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Filed Under: Blog, stories, writing

Comments

  1. Andrew Budek-Schmeisser says

    June 24, 2015 at 9:21 am

    Within this searing casque of pain
    I’ve tried to stop for beauty’s sake,
    and pay meet homage to the Name
    that drew Excalibur to the Lake.

    Pretense to royalty is a game, and
    shared wounds do not a kinship make,
    but, king that taught the world to stand
    in our sorrow and joy, quiet leave we take.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      June 25, 2015 at 2:12 pm

      Pondering these words. Where are they from, Andrew?

      Praying for you.

  2. Sharon O says

    June 24, 2015 at 10:49 am

    I love this writing. my husband and I often stop at old cemetery’s to read the old head stones. The stories they could tell. The quiet. The antiquated old rocks and stones just like your pictures. It is a lesson of history. Out here the Oregon trail will show the sadness along the way… through the old head stones and words written.
    Haven’t started to walk yet we are in a heat ‘wave’ and I am inside with my cool air.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      June 25, 2015 at 2:15 pm

      There’s so much of life in a cemetery…

  3. Dea says

    June 24, 2015 at 11:04 am

    Just so you know you aren’t the only one whose been crying…and walking through cemeteries…thanks for doing your assignment, for being real, and for sharing here at the “still” place.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      June 25, 2015 at 2:16 pm

      I’m sorry, Dea. I wish we could sit and share a cup of tea under a big tree. xo

  4. Marilyn Yocum says

    June 24, 2015 at 1:49 pm

    Now I have enjoyed walking this with you twice. Thank you for the peace.

    marilyn
    p.s. the photos are wonderful

    • Sandra Heska King says

      June 25, 2015 at 2:17 pm

      I miss you.

  5. Michele Morin says

    June 24, 2015 at 5:07 pm

    I could feel my pulse slowing as I stopped and read, and tried to picture your mindful place. Thanks.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      June 25, 2015 at 2:22 pm

      This is one of our favorite places to walk. We haven’t gone for awhile. We need to. I needed the time alone.

  6. Carol J. Garvin says

    June 24, 2015 at 6:19 pm

    I remember the day my hubby and I found the abandoned cemetery where my great grandfather is buried. Someone had cut the grass down, but it was still unkempt, wild and yet surprisingly peaceful. Cemeteries are places where we tend to slow down and reflect on what used to be, or just let our minds become empty of thought and then refill with the only the holy stillness.

    There’s a reason why God said, “Be still and know that I am God.” When life is too busy and we don’t have time for stillness, that’s when we most need it. Just as the body needs sleep to recoup every day, so does the mind need to be still, but even when we stop to rest our bodies, too often we keep our minds busy.

    I don’t know if you’ve ever read Dr. Matthew Sleeth’s book, “24/6: A Prescription for a Healthier, Happier Life.” There’s a lot of truth in his position that without a specific day planned every week when we can look forward to stopping everything, we’re more likely to experience burn out and depression. He calls it a ‘stop day’. Whatever our regular commitments or pursuits, he believes we need one day without them, and more and more I’m seeing merit in the idea.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      June 25, 2015 at 2:24 pm

      I think there’s a special beauty in the wild and unkempt places as will as those that are tended. I have not read that book, Carol. I need to look it up. Taking a deep breath now.

  7. Lynn Mosher says

    June 24, 2015 at 10:24 pm

    I may not comment on each post, but I love them all. I love your precious heart that brings us your touching words. I love the photos, as always. My heart hurts that yours is aching. Praying for you. ❤

    • Sandra Heska King says

      June 25, 2015 at 2:25 pm

      I love you, Lynn.

  8. Lux Ganzon says

    June 25, 2015 at 3:33 am

    You inspire to walk slow and be more mindful. I often get distracted and rush especially when I don’t like where I’m walking or when I don’t feel like walking. Thanks for this reminder.

    • Sandra Heska King says

      June 25, 2015 at 2:27 pm

      I’m pretty good at sitting still, but I need to work more on the walking. I walked again yesterday even though I didn’t *have* to. I worked some things out. 🙂

  9. Paula says

    July 12, 2015 at 10:18 pm

    It seems that walking does you good. Whether you “want” to or not. Me too.

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