Joseph Campbell says that all life is a meditation. Certainly each run is.
Rena and I are running partners. We run together, but we do not run along the same path. The geometry of my path is point A to point B. The stopwatch on my phone is ticking. I am always looking to best my fastest time. Rena's is a zig-zag. She is on a sense-fest. She knows who's been down the road before us this morning and who's marked a particular tree. She does not listen to the ticking of my stopwatch, but she does hear the unseen creatures under the brush that lines both sides of the road. She delights in pouncing, like a coyote, upon invisible prey. Meanwhile, I am pounding my angst into the pavement, reliving old moments, planning the remainder of the day, racing the clock.
My run is a meditation on emptying out--my head, my memories, my emotions. Rena's is one of filling up--her nostrils, her ears and her mouth, whenever possible. Yet, we are partners. As I nudge her to move along and down the road, she nudges me into the moment and into the experience of running. She sets me on the path. She stills time. She sees the Monarch in the Echium and makes sure I do, too.