"Motion is the Sign of Life"

By Dawn Raffel

Years ago, when I was a young woman, my father lived in a small fishing town north of Milwaukee. Downtown consisted of little more than a grocery store, dime store, and Dairy Queen, and since I hadn't grown up there, I didn't know anyone. To pass the time, I used to take hours-long solitary walks to the lakefront and out along a treacherous, slippery path of half-sunken rocks to a defunct lighthouse. Looking back toward shore, a church atop a hill commanded the otherwise empty skyline. Birds called and circled, and at night, the stars were astounding.

Recently, my kids and I went back to have a look at this little town. My dad passed away 25 years ago and the people who bought his house tore it down to build a giant garage. The previously serene lakefront is crowded with new multi-million dollar condos, and the jagged path to the lighthouse has been safely paved. You can have a drink at the lighthouse microbrewery or shop at the lighthouse gift shop, etc. Up the hill, that majestic church shares the skyline with new construction, and I imagine the stars have been obscured by electric lights.

None of this should be surprising. We know that everything changes in the material world, and without growth there would be degeneration. As Swami Vivekananda said, “Motion is the sign of life.” It’s futile to cling to the past; even my memories have doubtlessly shape-shifted.

If I've retained anything from that little town, it’s the habit of walking. My body, mind, and circumstances have changed, yet I still like to walk every day (yes, even when the temperature is below freezing). Walking is not the same as meditation, but as the body moves, the mind tends to slow down into a calm, focused state, especially when the route is familiar and you are not in a rush. Volumes have been written about the inspiration to be found in natural beauty, but mundane settings offer opportunities as well. We might think of walking as an exercise in duality—right foot and left foot, inhaling and exhaling, paying attention to daily changes, external and internal, while at the same time inviting awareness of what’s deep inside that doesn't change, the place of “no place” where division ends.

Swami Yogatmanandaji knows that I like to walk up the hill from the Providence train station to the Vedanta Society, even when it’s not very practical. I huff and I puff up the hill with my roller bag, passing the changing campus where I once was a student, occasionally (futilely) wishing I could go back in time and point that young woman in the right direction. Sometimes I mentally repeat my mantra as I walk, but I try not to force it. Mostly, I just keep putting one foot in front of the other as I make my way toward my destination.