I drove across the Golden Gate Bridge for a three-hour run in the Marin Headlands. I parked at Tennessee Valley and set out on a long, hilly loop through Muir Beach and Muir Woods.
The Coastal Trail follows cliffs high above the ocean, with spectacular views. Fifteen miles offshore, the Farallon Islands stood out clearly, and to their left a dark rain squall was headed for San Francisco. I was glad it would miss the Headlands.
My mind was spinning. It took two long hours of effort before I began to feel calm and focused. I was climbing an endless hill, repeating a short prayer and trying to get into the still place behind the mind’s endless jabber. Earlier, I had tried various methods to quiet my thoughts: praying, watching the rhythm of my footfall, listening inwardly, etc., but nothing had worked.
I was halfway up the climb when the thought occurred, “My mind isn’t me. It isn’t the part of me that’s real. What’s truly ‘me’ is my heart.”
Always, I had been able to find my heart most easily when I was deeply relaxed, and when I could accept whatever I was feeling and ask God for His help. Jogging up the long hill, I became aware that God wasn’t judging me for my restless mind. Those thoughts that had blown around in my head – I didn’t need to pay them much attention. They could never take me where I wanted to be.
When I go into the heart, I know that I’m alive. When I chase words through my mind, trying to corral them and put them in a jar or shape them into God-pleasing forms, I get nowhere and my heart feels neglected. The smallest light from my heart gives me more freedom than I can get from hours of thinking. Now, watching my thoughts as a calm and bemused observer, I felt the center of my awareness shift toward my heart.
When my heart becomes rich and still and focused, my mind follows easily. Concentration is little more than deep interest, and nothing interests me more than love and joy.
