There are so many ways to walk through a forest —/ through clover clusters, along a boardwalk lined with skunk cabbages — to a field where we listen to a ghost of song.

Shelley Wong

There are so many ways to walk through a forest. That idea is deeply comforting. Recently, I have had several young people I love graduate, and this advice seems perfect for them. (Though it applies to us all, at whatever stage of life we are in.) I am absolutely positive I have taken several paths through the forest of my life, and the switch backs, detours, and dead ends have all taught me something. I have learned that I can navigate it all. I have learned that I am not alone. I have learned that ultimately my capacity to make sense of the path prevails. I have learned to pay attention, and find joy, awe and love at each turn. I have learned that I have to learn some lessons — like forgiveness, patience, and vulnerability — again, and again, and again… I had a Balinese healer once tell me, “You don’t have to carry that weight.” That seems important to understanding our paths, too. When our paths become heavy, we can simply lay the burden down.

Listening to a ghost of song reminds me of the still small voice that lives in each of us. Part of walking through a forest is listening to our still small voice. My still small voice is in perfect harmony with all that I know for sure. My still small voice is often bigger than my heart can hold. Which often makes me cry. Which is exactly right for me. My still small voice looks like if wisdom had a human form. That is the ghost song part of the forest path. That is the unknowable knowing. That is the multiple perfection. That is bruised knee, inevitable, recalibration that guides us always forward.