Walking Stick as Axis of the Universe

What inhabits the center of our lives?

I returned again to Locust Grove. I wished to walk its grounds, to be here, to know it today. Perhaps in a sense to remember it.

Speaking of knowing and remembering, this visit didn’t get off to a smashing start. About three minutes into my walk, I felt my pants slipping down –  I’d forgotten my belt. I mean, this summer, I’d only trod the entire desert of Egypt in a quest for this exact belt to wear with precisely these pants. How had I forgotten it?

About three minutes after that, my foot hit a soft spot in the grass and twisted slightly. I was wearing low, waterproof New Balance shoes – I love them, but they simply don’t work well off-roading, as it were. I’d forgotten to wear the hiking boots I bought last summer….expressly for the purpose of my walking in nature. 

Then, a few minutes after that, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I groaned in frustration. Ready to depart my office to head to Locust Grove, I’d gotten distracted at the last minute and so forgot to pack my camera for the walk….which I planned to carry precisely so I didn’t have to pull out my phone to take photos. And so, I carried the phone in my front pants pocket – which made my pants continually fall down. During the walk, I pulled my phone out to take photos, yes, but more often to scratch the never-ending itch caused by the modern smartphone. Sigh. Distraction begets distractions. 

Fortunately, I didn’t forget my walking stick — only because I keep it in my car. As I walked, I saw the staff almost as the Axis of the World, the Tree of Life, the center point itself. I momentarily chuckled at the notion of Louisville being the Axis of the World. But on a sphere, any exterior point could have a line run from it, through the core of the sphere, and out the opposite side. 

The sun, the center point of our solar system, beat down mercilessly, as it had all week. My steps grew heavy and fatigued. After a short walk, I headed back to the picnic tables. Sitting down, I leaned my walking stick, still nearly upright, on the edge. 

I stared at the wood staff, almost entranced in my musings on the Axis. The brown stick widened, then narrowed into nothingness, then widened again to consume my field of vision.

What is the Axis of my life? What do I put at the center? What blazes with intense, irrepressible luminescence to shine forth from my gazing eyes?

What orbits, or wafts irregularly, around that Axis, that should be closer to the center?

Am I happy or even mildly satisfied with my answers? 

What do we put at the center of our lives? Do we consciously determine what we place at the center? Do others decide for us? Does The Machine? Does the glowing rectangular rock in our front pocket? Do we even have a center?

I rose and gently gripped my walking stick. The blue-green coloring of Kentucky shone in my eyes. And beyond, the resplendence of creation. All around.