I have heard of walking meditation, where one walks intently, noticing each step, feeling each breath, and finding a meditative calmness as you move. Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk and global spiritual leader explains it this way:
“Each mindful breath, each mindful step, reminds us that we are alive on this beautiful planet. We don’t need anything else. It is wonderful enough just to be alive, to breathe in, and to make one step. We have arrived at where real life is available—the present moment. If we breathe and walk in this way, we become as solid as a mountain.”
(https://www.lionsroar.com/how-to-meditate-thich-nhat-hanh-on-walking-meditation/)
I’ve tried meditation before, walking and otherwise, but I’ve never mastered it. I never get to that entirely calm state of noticing the breath with a calm mind. My busy thoughts always intrude. Or, alternatively, I go too far into a relaxed state and fall asleep.
I have done a lot of walking this winter, first when I signed up for a walking challenge to support The Nature Conservancy. I walked 70 miles in January. The more I walked, the more I liked it. I found it calming. I often walked in my own neighborhood, alternating directions, one day heading north on our roads, another day west, another day east. I found I moved quickly and anxiously at the beginning of each walk; my thoughts were busy, worrying, problem solving, or thinking about what I had to do at home. Somewhere in the middle of my walk, often at the point where I turned toward home, my edge was worn off. I walked more slowly. I was not impatient to get home. I noticed the bird songs, and the trees. The more I walked, the more I liked it. A habit was forming.
In February, a friend asked me to join her in a walking challenge. We invented our own challenge with our own rules. Our plan was to walk at least five days a week. We would track our miles, and give a donation based on our mileage to a local conservation group. And, during or after each walk, we would paint or draw, or write a haiku. My friend is an artist, I am a writer. We also committed to check in with each other frequently, since that reinforced our commitment to each other to walk, write, and draw.
Having an informal challenge helped us both get out of our houses. I felt that meditative calmness once again while walking in my neighborhood. But I also discovered that composing a haiku while walking brought on a similar calm and thoughtful state. The haiku could be about anything, it could be silly or serious. When I forgot to carry pencil and paper, I would memorize the three lines of haiku while walking. I would repeat the lines to the rhythm of my steps, line after line, step after step, to remember it long enough to write it down at home. I found this was another way to focus on the moment. Mindful walking, mindful words.
Thus, I have invented a new meditation technique: walking haiku. Haiku is fun, it is simply playing with words and syllables. There are 5 syllables in the first line, 7 syllables in the second line, and 5 syllables in the third line. And if I slip in an extra syllable or two, no biggy. That’s called poetic license.
My cell phone is dead I walk and listen to birds Nothing to distract me.
Playing with this short poetry technique while walking helps me with concentration. My goal is to notice what is around me and write a short piece about it. It might be about the sound of a great-horned owl hooting off in the woods; it might be about the blister forming on my heel because my sock fell down in my boot, or it might be about how cold I am on a blustery late winter day.
Walking in rubber boots Socks fall down. I get blistered, Still nice in the rain.
I find “walking haiku” increases my focus and helps me notice the rhythm of my foot steps. Serious haiku poets might scoff at my unique and odd short poems, but the goal is not to write the highest form of the art. It is to walk, breathe, notice, compose a poem, or chant a poem. And if I end up getting some exercise out of it, even better.
Michelle Eames 