We just returned from Sedona -- red rocks in odd and sometimes highly suggestive shapes and sizes, deep red dirt, vortexes, walking and hiking trails that take one deep into the heart of Indian medicine wheel country and spirits.
Rick and I found a little hiking trail behind the grounds where we stayed--piles of flat red rocks almost like slate (to walk on), red dirt (a mix of cinnamon and pomegranate color), insects, salamanders, the tiniest of birds perched in low bushes, cactus and prickly pears.
It didn't long for me to realize that I don't have the agility of a goat or those cows I see traversing the hillsides on the golden hills along Camino Tassajara. Rick on the other hand, forged ahead, stopping to snap pictures and take in the view. I spent a good deal of time looking down carefully calculating where each foot should land next and trying to keep up with him.
The thing about hiking is, one must stay present otherwise one might find herself splattered on red rock ... but once I realized that I WAS present, I could make the experience anything I wanted -- spiritual, meditative, fun, scary, and it became more meaningful.
And that experience reminded me of writing. To write I need to be present not to just show up at the computer or the note pad with pen in hand, but to consciously show up so that it matters that I've been there...
Wanna write? Here's a PROMPT: You were the gentle one ...
(and keep going for 20 minutes)
prompt from Pat Schneider's book, Writing Alone and With Others