Saturday morning filled me with energy. Took dogs to do errands (including buying luscious, fresh corn picked that morning and heaped high up on the produce stand by J&J Farms in Amherst), then let Aussie and Henry out in Leverett and started walking.

I thought I knew where I was going, retracing the route I’d taken a week or two earlier when I got lost and inadvertently came across the northern edge of Leverett Pond. This time I’ll find it on purpose, I promised myself. I set out as I almost always do, full of fresh optimism. It was a beautiful, clear, cool morning, the kind when you feel that even the slightest judgment would be a mockery of what we’ve been given. Hair was singing in the breeze, blood cells quickening, love everywhere.

Indeed, I made the right turns that brought me to the big pond, which Aussie entered with a happy, noisy splash. I could hear people in kayaks, but they were hidden by a high grove of hemlocks. There were signs of beaver construction, ebullient frogs. An evasive fisher disappeared behind the trees. Sticking to dry land, I frolicked with Henry, wondered about trying to circumnavigate the pond but nixed the idea. It was too big and I had work to do; time to turn around and return to the car.

And got lost. Seriously lost. 3-1/2 hours lost in a wooded area that climbed up rocky slopes and descended to vast beds of moss, pools trickling under my feet. I followed trail after trail, one footpath leading to another and yet another, convinced that all trails eventually lead to a road, don’t they? Not necessarily.

The funny thing is, I take pride in getting lost. Remember when you liked to think you were always in control, I remind myself. Remember when you didn’t want to take risks? Now you’re letting all that go and even enjoying losing your way, no sight of the familiar, unable to locate maps that you once swore by. You let the woods take you wherever—a little like writing.

BUT FOR 3-1/2 HOURS?

To make a long story short, we found our way to Rte. 63, and I knew that the car was a long way away. There was a path that cut through the woods from the road we were grimly trudging on, staying at the very edge of the busy route away from the cars, dogs on leash, but I had no idea where to find it. No Wi-Fi or phone connection, nothing to do but walk on till we could circle back to our car. It would take a long time; where will I get the energy?

And then Aussie sat down in front of a red farmhouse and wouldn’t budge. From past experience, I decided to listen, so I went to the door and rang the bell. The young man who emerged informed me that yes, right behind that house was the path that would cut through and bring us to our car in 25 minutes.

Without Aussie, we’d still be walking. She might be a MAGA kook, but she has a great sense of direction.

Two things come to mind: I was stressed and exhausted, but had no doubt I’d find my way. Why? Because I knew the area. I knew Rte. 63 that ran on the western side of the forest, Montague Road on the eastern side, I knew the town south and the town north; it would be just a matter of time till I found something familiar.

This is true in my practice. As a member of the Zen Peacemaker Order, I made vows to a particular Rule: not-killing, not blaming, living out of not-knowing and bearing witness, and living in peace with all beings. That doesn’t mean I don’t get lost and confused. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel overwhelmed and frustrated at times; last week I sank into depression over the Middle East. But I have faith that I’ll get back on track, that sticking to regular meditation and giving full attention to moment after moment, the thickets of my life will eventually part to reveal familiar landmarks and bring me home. I know the general neighborhood.

Second, even as that long, winding journey tired me out for 2 days, I went out early this morning with the dogs into the Montague Plains, a fairly large, flat preserve of pine-scrub oak which I usually avoid in the summer due to lack of water.

“Senora, aren’t you afraid we’ll get lost again?” asked Henry.

“I’ll be more careful,” I promised. “I won’t be as arrogant about it as I was before.”

But I loved setting out once again, making turns I hadn’t before. No same-old same-old, no regular routine for me. There I was, looking for long cuts, searching for water, with the same excitement and joy I had Saturday morning, the same I’ve had most of my life. I won’t get to Mars with Elon, but in my way, whether in the woods or in front of the computer, I’m on my own earth trek, hoping to get somewhere where no person has ever gone. Hoping to get nowhere.