This morning, between my meditation and my run, I took a few additional minutes to escape deeper into my life. I sat in our den looking into our backyard — the early light still thick, sluggish and monochrome gray, shape and shadow still as one. As I sat quietly and watched, the light gradually sweetened, until everything glimmered in a dull silver, and then the moment I had waited for: the silver warmed into a brilliant orange glow, bathing the big red clay planter on the patio and all around it in soft fire. This lasted one or two precious minutes, and then full sunlight exploded in white across the trees and grass, and the real day was finally, gloriously here.
I called this moment “escaping into life,” and yet I have often been guilty of saying the opposite. Over the years, when people have asked why I run, I don’t know how many times over the years I have responded: “It’s my escape from life,” or words very much to that effect. I’ve heard other people explain their running the same way.
And yet, when I think about it, I already live my life as one long, desperate prison break — always either trying to get away from something I don’t want, or get something I do want. There are many mornings, especially in the first five minutes of sitting zazen, that I realize how twitchy I am — how much I don’t want to be here, doing this. And how often when I’m running, I’m trying to think of anything, anything at all, that will allow me to disassociate from my physical discomfort and pain. “The best part of running is being done” is another quote I’ve heard a lot over the years, including from my own mouth, and frankly it seems more than a little sad to do things with the attitude of simply wanting them to be over.
Which is way I sit zazen – to isolate and recognize that constant vague sensation of dissatisfaction, that restless feeling of continually wanting to escape from life, and try to reconnect with life as it is, what Eihei Dogen called (among other things) “actualizing the fundamental point.” And on my run this morning, I managed to, at least at times, make that escape from the prison of dissatisfaction back into my life. There were times I could fully feel the crisp brilliance of the November sunlight, so different from the heavy-lidded light of August, the simple but profound miracle of my breath coming and going, my legs churning beneath me, my muscles straining, my arms swinging forward and back, the slight, pleasant chill of the air moving over my skin. There are so many of these gifts within reach, and so often we want to escape elsewhere in search of more exotic treasure. But I’ve always found the real gold and silver, if I sit and run with awareness, is right here, right now … even at our high school track, even in my own backyard.