Convergence

A dark cloud hung over me as I began my Just 10 walk this morning.  It was raining worry.  I struggled not to give it the satisfaction of acknowledgment.  Concentrating on my breathing, I focus on my posture.  I often walk with a slight limp and favor my left leg.  This form of favoritism isn't a favor at all.   My left leg is much weaker than my right.  Often, when I walk, I focus on distributing my weight evenly on both legs.  This shift in focus helps when dark clouds rain worry.  It gives me something physical to focus on.  It give me an action to  perform.  It's a tiny bit of empowerment.

Pushing on, a dozen different ideas pop into my head.  These could all be seeds for a blog entry.  None of them excite me.  I begin to doubt that I have anything to say.  Maybe I never had anything to say.   Maybe I've been kidding myself about the writer that has been hidden inside me all these years.  Maybe I've been dancing with delusion.  Maybe this morning the veil has slipped.  I go back to concentrating on my breathing.

Suddenly, around a bend in the trail, a man pops in view.  He has an awkward gait. He is extremely bow-legged.  His hair is cut short.  His eyes hide behind sunglasses. On his hands he wears large canvas gardening gloves.  They are white covered with black dots to improve the grip.  He is clutching a neon yellow tennis ball.  I note that he has no dog to retrieve the ball.  He exudes the feel of an overgrown puppy.  Maybe the ball is just for him.   He sees me and says, "Hey.  How many miles do you do each day?"


I am on guard.  I mentally survey the landscape.  In full view of the traffic, the bushes on the side of the trail are wild roses.  It's not likely, he'll suddenly shove me in them especially since the traffic on Padden can see us.  So, I smile but keep a safe distance.  I reply,  "Only about three.  How about you?  How many miles do you do each day?"  He eagerly replies, "Twelve."  I'm not sure I believe him but nod politely.

He then begins to relate a story he says is remarkable.  He told me he found a set of keys this morning near Ward Road.  (I take mental note and decide that he might have been telling the truth about the 12 miles.)
I lose track of some of his words.  They seem to meander.  There are too many words for me to focus on this morning.  I keep putting on the face of polite interest but my mind is a thousand miles away.  I do not find his tale remarkable but he does.

On the trail, we are suddenly met by two young Mormon missionaries, who don't want to let this chance meeting go to waste without trying to bring us salvation.  My bow-legged, long distance walker and now epic story teller, waves them politely onward.  They linger, reluctant to go  They don't want to miss this God-given, providential encounter.  I too, dismiss them politely and turn my attention or rather my inattention back to my gloved-walker.  I think he looks like Disney's Goofy with those gloves.  His face also has a Goofy openness and naivete but then again what are his eyes really like behind those glasses?   Maybe he is really clever and cunning.  Maybe his eyes pierce like Ted Bundy or Charles Manson.  But then again, I really doubt that.  My intuition tells me he's harmless.  A bit strange maybe, but harmless.
 
His story final ends.  I am eager to continue my walk.  I comment on his "remarkable" story and tell him, "You really were a Good Samaritan this morning.  Good to see you."  I don't remember ever passing him before.  He acts like he remembers me.  I seem to be doing a lot of pretending this morning.  And then, without warning my topic of the day, hits me just as I meet someone I often meet on the trail, my blond walker/jogger with iPod strapped to her arm.  Her iPod armband reminds me of the armbands the Jews were made to wear in Nazi Germany.  I'm struck by the odd thought and more so by the odd convergence of 5 people on the trail: me, the gloved-puppy man, two Mormon missionaries with acne and my blond, iPod-wearing walker/runner. 
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I note how weird a gathering this is.  I wonder what any of us have in common.  I wonder what any of it means or if it means anything.  I, who look for meaning everywhere, can not always find it.  Yet, I continue to ponder this chance encounter.  If any of us had been 30 seconds behind schedule, we would not have met in the same fashion.   Could each of these people teach me something, anything?  I hoped I didn't look as goofy as my bow-legged walker but I just might.   My gait is a bit unusual.  I often limp.   One day, I also found a ball, bright orange.  I clutched this ball and a blue t-shirt I pulled off the outside white line near the intersection.  I think I also had an odd twig in my hand as well.  You can't tell me that I didn't look a bit odd to any passersby.  I'm not so different from this Goofy-man.

As for the Mormon missionaries, I too, knew their zeal in youth.  I had gotten an old rusty bike while I was in the convent.  I'd rubbed it with naval jelly to remove as much of the rust as I could.  I painted it a pale blue.  I often rode it to clear my head, to escape the craziness that seemed to occur behind the convent's imposing walls.  I often rode it in my habit, my veil flapping in the breeze.  Unlike my Morman brothers' mission to save others,  I was on a mission to save my self.   My sanity had been shaken by all that had happened within those convent walls.  I pedaled in the bike lanes of Beaverton, trying to restore what had been lost, my innocence, my belief in the goodness of others, my hope for the Church.  No matter how fast I pedaled, I couldn't find  any of those things.  Remembering this, I uncovered an empathy for their zealous quest, so early on a Monday morning.

As for my blond, pony-tailed-iPod-wearing  companion,  she has earned the connection by her faithful consistency.  I do not know her name or anything about her for that matter, yet, we seem to meet each day. We have created our own ritual of connection.  We acknowledge each with our eyes.  I smile and nod an hello.  She raises her hand up to her chest in a greeting salute and whispers a breathy,"hi."   We are part of each others' landscape.

On the trail this morning and precisely at the same time, five very different people met.  These five people may not be as different as they first seem but whatever their differences, their motives or their exercise rituals,  today, they all shared the same trail.  They all shared a moment of convergence.  Such moments of convergence are often overlooked.  Today, I got to honor that convergence with awareness.  I'm excited to see what tomorrow may bring.