The Walking Trail

Edition #56 — May 4, 2004

Metaphysical Lessons From Nature

I have a walking trail where I live, which I walk every day for exercise. It's kind of a magical trail since it has brought me a lot of things over the years — signs, if you like, of what appear to be metaphysical interventions in my life. It's as if I have spirit collaborators who use that trail to teach me things, show me something, or prove a point. It's also my creative thinking, problem solving and song-writing trail.

What do I find on this path? Animals, mostly related to exactly what I was thinking about minutes earlier. Somehow, whatever I find caters specifically to the theme that I'm wrestling with at that exact moment.

Sure, I know it sounds silly, even downright nuts, but what something appears like to others and whether it's accepted or not has never changed the nature of the phenomenon. My earth is still round, baby! Were I a scientist working only with hard evidence, I'd still have to conclude that, based upon the thoughts I'm having at the time of each incident, there are definitely invisible forces working on that trail. Except that I couldn't come to that conclusion because, well — it's nuts, and I'd lose my funding.

Luckily, I am nuts, so this works out just fine for me.

It's All In The Beak!

Recently, as I was beginning a walk, I came upon the remains of a bird that had been killed by some predatory animal. The way the body looked, some would say it was classic El Chupacabra (the dreaded "goat sucker"!!!) I figure it was a cat. Nonetheless, all that remained of that dead bird were his feathers and a beak. Nothing else. It was the weirdest thing: no other body parts in sight. Totally consumed.

I thought about this creature's plight in a symbolic way. The beak is the bird's mouth. It's what he would have used to make noise with while he was alive, squawking and screeching his message to the rest of the bird world around him. And that was all that remained of him. Plus the feathers.

And that is all that remains of us.

When you think about it, the only thing proven to be immortal about human beings are the words that we speak. The world is cluttered with books full of words supposedly spoken by anyone from Jesus and Muhammed to Shakespeare and Albert Einstein. Words, thoughts, beliefs; forever etched into the stone of time.

Words Never Decompose.

Words are our only permanent legacy — nothing else lasts. Upon our own deaths, if we don't have ourselves cremated, even our bones will eventually decay over time. Only our words will remain, as alive and animated and full of power as though they'd just been spoken. Think about that before the next time that you speak.

Think about the words you've spoken over your own lifetime — and in whom they still live on. I can easily recall from memory words my mother and father said to me when I was a small child; whether pleasant or not. I still recall the words of people who teased me or tried to insult me (as others may remember my own teasing and insults toward them!) I can still hear the way an old girlfriend used to say my name; I can still "hear" the words of an old friend who always made me laugh. All that remain of my past are the memories of other people's words etched into my consciousness. And oddly enough, they still have the power to invade my present, to make me laugh, or to upset me. Even though I have little or no contact with many of the people from my past, I still have contact with them, in the form of their bygone words to me.

Our words and the energy that inspires them, whether loving or hateful, trusting or fearful, are as potent as any action, and much longer lasting. If someone cuts you, you heal. If someone speaks to you hurtfully, that wound may never close.

Be aware of the power of your words. Choose them wisely. Think about their power — your power! — to be immortalized in what you have to say to others.

Well, that does it for the beak. Now the feathers...

All the best,
Roland Kriewaldt.

P.S. And for all you hockey fans out there, especially you Toronto Maple Leaf Fans, try to remember that most — if not all — of the players on your home team are not from your home town — they're hired mercenaries, usually from the rival cities that they're now playing against. Yes, I know, life can be cruel.

P.P.S. Oh, and don't forget to buy ten or more copies of my book.

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