Before you read this post, stop for a moment and take one deep, long breath.
So, the other morning I ran . . . er, well, I jogged . . . uhm, well, I more like briskly walked up Rattlesnake Gulch in Millcreek Canyon for a morning blood-stirring-up:
The day is overcast, a late August warm morning, a bit humid. I notice, once at the top and my breathing eased, that it is quiet. No birds, no buzzing bugs, quite still. Even city noise is not evident. It is getting ready to rain.
I sit to take in the stillness. At the other side of the dirt trail, I notice a small slug working her way across, towards me.
I decide to sit on this rock and watch. Just . . . sit . . . and . . . watch. I tune into her pace, this slug. And as I do, my whole body relaxes — noticeably so.
I’m often teased by those closest to me about how slowly I drive. I blame it on old cars. I drive newer cars with stronger engines fast enough, thank you very much. But what comes first, the slow-chicken-older-car preference, or the egg-I-like-going-slow preference? It saves gas, after all.
Slug is still moving across the trail. She’s moving in a smooth, continuous motion, in this most beautiful, serene way. Little feelers appear, going in and out, touching things then disappearing, then reaching out again in a smooth dance, giving feedback about whether to flow left, or to flow right.
One of my favorite childhood things was eating Saltine crackers as slowly as I could. Wet around the edges and let them disintegrate in my mouth. No biting or crunching. Just slow, slow moistening and smushing and swallowing bitty bits at a time.
I’m sitting on the rock — it’s starting to rain just a little bit.
There is incredible beauty in the pace of this slug. Effortless glide, no moving parts evident. Silent. Careful probing by retractable antenea of the path ahead. Gentle.
I feel a serious resonance with this slow and gentle slug. I take in fully the fact that it is my nature to go slow. I feel connected and happy and right when I can go slow. Really slow. Maybe this slug is just going at Nature’s pace, which is my pace, and that’s why it feels so good.
So I take a tip from this slug, as I watch, about allowing myself to go at the pace that feels good and nourishing this morning. Slow.
And if I get distracted and stop paying attention, whoosh!
The slug is GONE.