There is a quiet I know when I am alone at night, or in the bath, or riding my bike, or walking in the woods. A clear and careful quiet when everything starts to make sense.
My parents have a dog called Jack. He lives with them after I moved out. He is mostly happy. Other than the normal things like eating and sleeping, he likes to walk. I would say walking is his favourite thing to do.
We would often walk together. In the rain in muddy woods. In the sun through wheat fields. In the cold winter on the beach. I lived by the seaside, and there are a lot of places to walk, often without seeing another person the whole time.
We would get into our stride. We would have our thoughts and we would walk. When I walk without Jack the dog I walk badly. I am concerned about the destination. With Jack the dog the walking is the point. We arrive at our destination before we come full circle.
Jack the dog is unassuming. He is a little Buddha. He is a little rock. Always there but never passing comment. Taking in, appreciating, contemplating the world, getting stronger from within.
Jack the dog lives in the now. Each thing has his absolute attention for the moment it's in his line of sight. Jack the dog notices each thing anew, things I am apt to overlook from familiarity.
For all Jack the dog's humbleness and his quiet appreciation he can sometimes break into a run, when perhaps he is overcome by clarity, happy to be alive he is galloping through the pines.
This is the simplicity I am always looking for. When you are really free, when clarity gives heed and there is nothing but you and the world, then you are, without destination, Jack the dog bounding through the fields.
By Rob Hodgson
From Oh Comely magazine
