All hail the Fool, the wild one, the strange one, the one we dismiss . . . the one who seems so lost.
Spring is the season of the Fool, definitely. Innocence, new beginnings, being deeply alive. Being so in awe of the return of life–the budding trees, the little flowers popping up, all the green things poking their heads out of the dirt to test the wind–that you forget where you’re going and walk straight off a cliff into thin air.
Or you take a track in the woods that you have never followed before and get horribly, horribly lost. Losing your way, and having to rely on your senses and your wits to find your way back is an exercise in trust. You have to stay calm, breathe, connect to yourself and to the world around you so you can figure out where you are. You have to have an actual sense of direction, and know where the sun is in the sky and what that means in relation to what time it is.
“I have GPS on my phone,” you say. “I’ll just ask my phone how to get back.”
Really? You think the pathways of the heart are in the GPS? You think you can use the GPS to navigate to where you need to be, versus where you think you ought to be? You think that the GPS can tell the difference between should and higher good?
Michael and I got horribly horribly lost in the woods several years ago, before either of us had a smart phone. No GPS. No compass, either. Just us, the woods, and a sky so overcast that we literally had no idea where the sun was. We walked for two solid hours before either of us recognized any landmarks. We ended up having to walk another couple miles on the main roads just to get back to where we left our cars so we could drive back to work. But what we discovered on that walk together was far, far more important than anything we would have done at work that day.
We discovered that, even though we were lost and MIA from our work places, we were both able to relax and enjoy the coolness of the breeze, the color of the leaves, the peace and quiet of the deep woods, the symphony of birdsong, the beauty of the creek as it meandered through along side us–and that we loved being in each other’s company. No maps, no reference point in the sky, just a general gut feeling that North was thataway. Mostly. Sort of. Yeah, that feels like North.
And so several hours after our lunch date began, we straggled in to our respective offices, footsore, disheveled, sweaty, a little embarrassed, but . . . calm, deliriously happy, and sure that we had each found a true partner and soulmate out there in those woods.
Miraculously, nobody was around to notice I’d been out. Nobody seemed to notice Michael’s absence, either. We got away with it.
That makes it a Sign, right?
We’re still intensely happy together, though delirium gave way to delight after a decade, give or take. The laughter and sense of adventure, the ability to have fun together no matter what else is going on, the deep contentedness and enjoyment of each-other’s company hasn’t diminished one bit; in fact, it’s getting stronger and better all the time. That experience was important. I wrote two songs about it. We got lost together and found our way back together, and because we were together, it was fun, and right. It has become a part of our history. It became sort of a theme for our whole relationship: We’re never lost, we’re finding our way. And when we do misplace ourselves, there is no-one I would rather be lost with than him.
My dad had an internal compass like a damn homing pigeon. He always knew where he was. He could be in a completely new place without a map and drive straight up to wherever he was going without even trying. Lost was something that happened to other people. He and I used to go out walking nearly every day, even when it was dangerously cold. I think he did it just to install the same compass in me, and I do have an amazing sense of direction – when it’s working. It goes on the fritz once in a while, and I have to rely on some external thing to find the track again. I prefer maps. Give me a map and a compass and I can navigate anywhere. Thank you, Dad.
GPS just makes me feel more lost and more vulnerable.
Relying on some crutch that tells me where I am instead of me knowing where I am feels like a liability. If I lose my ability to connect to the Earth and know where I’m at, I’ll just be another sheep getting herded to wherever somebody else thinks I need to go. I don’t know about you, but even thinking about that pisses me off and gives me the willies.
It feels like just another way to disconnect us from our Mother.
My compass is like a talisman to me. I carry it often, especially when I am feeling a little unfocused, unwell, or scattered. It helps me to feel centered and grounded, even when I know exactly where I am.
Here’s an exercise to try, to enhance and deepen your own sense of direction. Either buy a compass, or download a goddam app onto your friggin’ phone (gah) and take yourself out someplace where you are secluded and you can’t see any of the landmarks that you ordinarily navigate by. Take out your compass and find North. Sit down, facing true, due North. Close your eyes, and still your thoughts. Expand your energy body toward the North, and meditate upon what North feels like. How your body feels oriented this way. After a few minutes, turn to either the East or the West. Do the same thing. Take plenty of time. Feel what Eastness or Westness feels like, and compare it to Northness.
Think about it this way: our blood contains iron. Iron is what makes a compass work. Magnetism. Feel the subtle shifting of where the iron is pointing in your body. Feel the bits of iron in your blood as if they are arrows on a compass, and feel them point to North. When you are facing West, you should be feeling like all your arrows are pointing to the right. When you are facing East, all your arrows will be pointing to the left. When you are facing South, all your arrows will be pointing toward whatever is behind you.
It’s an extremely subtle feeling, and it takes time to cultivate it.
But much like any other skill, once you get it, it’s there. You can get rusty, and maybe your compass feels like the needle is stuck pointing to Nowhere hard. But it doesn’t take much to refresh your orientation, once you have it.
I really do worry about people who have never learned to read a map, who don’t feel themselves in the Cardinal directions. They know Up and Down, and . . . that’s about it. I see it equally in men as in women. It makes me feel like a sad dinosaur. Do you know where West is? Can you navigate by the Sun? Can you find the Polestar? Do you even know what phase the moon is in right now? This stuff can all be learned, and yes, technology can help keep you oriented. There are calendar plugins with time of sun and moon rise and set and apps that will tell you whether the moon is waxing or waning, like Phases of the Moon Pro which lives on my phone as wallpaper so I always know what’s going on with Luna. But I don’t let the technology become a substitute for the knowing.
The best part is, feeling where you are on the Planet in this way will profoundly enhance your feelings of connection to it.
Oh, be still my foolish heart. We just found our way back to where we started: Feeling so deeply, foolishly and lovingly a part of something that it doesn’t matter if you lose all track of where you are – because you always know where you are. Lost is something that happens to other people. We have become Sacred Fools and Wayfinders.
Here’s one of the songs I wrote about being lost in the woods with Michael. May you always find your way.