Moving Forward, Looking Backward
The trail is treacherous. Lots of curves and switchbacks. I'm not able to see what's coming around the next corner.
There are lots of rocks to twist and sprain an ankle, lots of ruts and holes to step in and break a leg, and lots of branches and sticks reaching out to trip me up.
No matter how fast I move down the trail, I can still sense it back there somewhere. I can just about hear it coming. Maybe feeling and sensing the disaster, feeling the vibrations in the ground of some big rock slide, or monstrous avalanche.
I'm stumbling along as fast as I can. Not gracefully descending the steep downhill trail like a large feline, strong and confident in each and every move. But lumbering down like a big out of control human, not used to this kind of terrain. Barely able to keep my two feet under me as the momentum is dragging me down. But I want to go faster, I want to outrun the disaster that seems to be relentlessly chasing me down.
It's back there, I can feel it. I can hear it. I can damn near see it.
But as I lumber down the path, always looking over my shoulder, I don't see the terrible danger ahead of me. The fate that awaits me if I don't regain control.
I need to slow down and be aware of my steps forward. There's nothing I can do about what's already behind me. But I can be in control of how I traverse what's ahead of me. I can start to travel the path ahead more like that strong feline, the large panther or mountain lion. Strong and graceful, able to move along no matter how unsteady the path ahead.
The biggest thing that I can do to keep the complications from chasing me down, is to be conscious and careful about the steps I take moving forward from here on out.