Good Medicine

I have literally just returned from a delicious after-dinner bike ride on the "ditch" - the open aqueduct slowly ambling around and down the mountain that I'm living on.  Alongside the ditch is a wide, rocky and gently sloping nine-mile path that is absolutely stop-your-breath beautiful and perfect for biking or hiking.

On a walk, one could peer at hundreds of sweet little things along the way, like bleeding hearts, flowering manzanita, a plethora of friendly dogs, and the occasional slug.  But on a ride, it's the bigger stuff that captures one's senses.  Rounding a bend I am smacked into absolute synapse silence - the wordless WOW - when my eyes meet a hundred miles of layered valley and evergreen-strewn mountains backlit by a setting sun. 

Or huge roots on the other side of the ditch that hang like a giant octopus. I imagine them gasping for the rich soil, their oxygen.  Somehow, the massive tree is as firmly earthed as any I've seen. Perhaps I feel in it a kindred spirit at present... seemingly uprooted and seeking - yet solidly anchored in the deep brown rusty earth.  I myself dangle over the unknown, while finding myself thoroughly grounded in the comfort of Family, a profound sense of Right Placement, and the amazing gift of Time.

Tonight's ride reminded me of one of the most important veins in my own happiness. That within me, I have my own antidote - my own secret stash of snake medicine and "mother's little helper" at my disposal at all times.

After a delightful day - walking, working, celebrating my mom's birthday with a tour of Empire Mine State Park, I found myself feeling anxious.  I began my necessary on-line search for "what's next," and as the information and questions began to whip around, I was in the middle of a storm of excitement, a sense of wide possibility, and a few hard slaps from my secret inner demon:  Doubt.  By 4:30 pm, I began rummaging through the refrigerator in hopes of eating my own weight in all foods consisting of wheat, corn, or rice. God bless the Atkins dieter... but I simply do not have it in me.

And so it was that I remembered my own inner medicine cabinet.  The bike.  Though I love biscuits (or a Corona with lime for that matter), they are weak substitutes for wind in the face, bug on the chin, death grip on the handle bars, flying down a hill on a bike.  Looking back, I realize this has always been my personal remedy.  I shipped my bike to Connecticut in 1999 when I moved across the country.  Almost immediately, I had to find my way- a new home, a new car, a new job - to bloom where I was planted.  And I did it on my bike.  I could take everything in, small doses, block by block, road by road.  And through that meandering, I found my way into a life that I loved.  

Today, I make the same effort. So forgive all my metaphors... of riding things out, of coasting, of mustering unknown strength, etc. It's simply where it's at for me.  And I know that we all have our individual "fix," our unique form of soul medicine. 

My sister, for example, lights holiday candles and plays Christmas music anytime of year when life gets overwhelming.  Her husband knows immediately that something is going on if he catches a whiff of pine and cinnamon clove in July. But the thing is, it works!  Another close friend heads straight for Target when she feels a dark cloud rising. And she insists that the "Retail Therapy" is still less expensive than psychotherapy.

What is your "go-to" remedy? Running? Meditation? Dance?  What sets you back on your path when you've veered off?  The trick for me (First, B... close the refrigerator door), is to open up the real medicine cabinet and reach for the right dose of the thing that provides me the most light.  Here's hoping your cabinet is filled with the best kind of medicine.  Happy trails!