Landscape therapy path

Brilon (51.383310 | 8.574984)

Mindfulness

It doesn't necessarily have to be wilderness to enter a completely different world. It's also possible here, on the outskirts of Brilon.

I leave the spa gardens and take the path marked by a white arrow on a red background. It's not actually the world that's new, but the way I perceive it. The name "Landscape Therapy Trail" initially puzzled me: Is the landscape to be healed? Should I be treated? On the path instead of on the couch? But then I read that it was about strengthening factors that are good for us physically and emotionally. About landscapes as spaces in which we can feel alive, nourished and balanced. In which the body is cared for, the feelings, the Wissen, the soul. To be whole, to be fully human. Different from the often stressful and monotonous everyday life.

That makes sense to me. And so I have resolved to walk this path with particular care. After a few hundred meters, red steps branch off to the right. Steps in the forest? Red? That makes me curious. The steps and grates end abruptly, another irritation. After standing still for a while, I discover the entrance to a cave or hole in the ground, half hidden in the bushes. Childhood memories emerge. When we played in the forest, we crawled into every pit, cave or tunnel we could squeeze into. It had to be done. And kept secret from our parents. The hole in front of me is too small. Or rather: I'm too big.

While I linger, my nose goes on a voyage of discovery. A musty smell like that of mushrooms wafts out of the hole. The scent of freshly mown hay wafts from somewhere. I think I can smell a fire burning wood. The smell becomes more subtle.

Further along the path. As it curves and undulates, sometimes narrowing, sometimes widening again, it always provides little surprises. New impulses, also for thinking. Between two fir trees, far above my head, I discover a line along which small red bells are strung. A gust of wind causes them to vibrate. They ring softly. Solemnly. That pricks up my ears. After a while, they can distinguish the edgy rustling of the beech leaves moved by the wind from the round whirring of the pine needles. From far away, the bright "wi-üü, wi-üü" of a buzzard. Close by, the excited cawing of a jay, warning the rest of the forest dwellers of my presence.

What exactly does mindfulness mean? I remember the story of the sage who is asked by his disciples: "Master, what is it like to be enlightened?" He says: "For me, it's like this: when I eat, I eat. When I work, I work. When I walk, I walk." - "But that's exactly what we do!" - The master smiles: "I doubt that..." A real judge of character. He knows that we often do one thing and are thinking about something else. Physically in one place, with our smartphone in another. Being mindful means: I walk, and I know that I am walking. I see, and I am aware of what I am seeing.

For example, when I climb onto one of the three red-painted high seats. Like a hunter "on a hide". I overlook a meadow that rises slightly to the next edge of the forest. No deer to be seen, but my eyes are pleased nonetheless. On the computer, they focus on a distance of 80 centimetres; when walking in the city, they focus on the next five meters. This requires the eye muscles to tense up. Here on the high seat, they can focus to infinity. You relax. Me too.

Looking outwards. And inwards. I try to consciously perceive the memories that come to me. Comparisons, daydreams. And questions: Where have I just come from? Where am I at this moment? Where do I go from here? The path inspires new answers. Ever since the Greek philosophers invented thinking while walking and wandering, it has been clear that walking is the way to find answers. Flowing movement allows thoughts to flow freely. The steps I take with my feet help me to move on inwardly too.

A UFO has landed on the slope above me. Round, red, radiant and completely impossible between the dark silhouettes of the spruce trunks. I climb cross-country towards the strange object. As I get closer, a broad red circle appears, hanging high above a bench. A halo for pilgrims on the trail? Frisbee for forest giants? Dropped from an airplane? "Fairy wreath" is the name of the installation, I read on the sign next to it. To each his own imagination.

My tip for the inspiration hikers after me applies to all the signs on the installations along the Landscape Therapy Trail: first experience, then read. In the end, it is also clear to me who this path is intended to treat: no one! It is simply a blessing for body and soul to walk it.

Author: Michael Gleich