Zen and the Leash

Maybe it's the way I tug on the leash. Maybe it's the lean of my back or the rhythm of my feet. All I know is that if I have even the ghost of the thought that she won't walk as fast or as steadily as I need her to do in order for us to get home in a reasonable (i.e. reasonable to me) time, I have not a dog but a furry anchor at the end of the leash doing its darndest to ensure that I never move another step. As soon, however, as I let go of this thought, still not looking back but simply walking steadily along, the leash slackens and I hear instead the happy pitter-patter of little doggie feet, and there we are, walking together along the sidewalk. Who knows? Maybe she's reading my mind. All I know is, the more anxious I am about whether she will walk, the more I guarantee that she won't, but if I let go not of the leash, but of thoughts about the leash, she will walk with me maybe not to the ends of the earth, but at least--and in under an hour--home.

Actually, tonight it took about thirty minutes, once I let go of the thought.

Comments

  1. Why is it that letting go...even of thoughts...is so hard? And it's hard every time, even if we "know" results can be spectacular!

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