Falling deeper into the moment

One morning on my Italian trip, I waved my friends off in their camper van (they were due to explore Germany and France before returning to England a couple of weeks later) and wandered off, rucksack on back, into the Italian heat, unsure of where my adventures would take me next.I soon found myself at the start of what was called strada Napoleonica ('Napoleon's walk'), a road built along the Italian coastline in the late 18th century to enable Napoleon's troops to find their way to Trieste. I wasn't sure how long the route was: all I remember was my Italian friend Giorgio telling us a few days before that it was 'a long way'. The sign at the beginning of the route gave me lots of interesting information, but, intriguingly, not that! I had eaten breakfast and had a small bottle of water, however, so I was happy to give it a try.A couple of hours or so down the path, though, my ankles and fingers were beginning to swell from dehydration, I felt slightly dizzy and there was no way out of the searing heat. I felt to turn around and go back, as either way I would probably have at least another two hours in the blazing sun. In that moment, however, something prompted me to go on. And I got that familiar feeling of everything slowing down; as if every moment were significant (as of course it is, but you know what I mean!) And sure enough, round the next corner, there was a board with some information on it, showing that I had gone over half way (if it was to scale, of course - but whether it was or not, it was enough to encourage me onwards). So I continued. Then, five minutes or so down the trail the road opened out and I saw, on one side of it, a sign of civilization - a camper van - and on the other: a water fountain (a blessed sight - I'd just drunk my last drop of water). I was just pondering whether it was clean water (the sign on it was in Italian and it wasn't obvious) when, out of the blue, a man appeared on his bike (the first human being I'd seen for several hours). He reassured me it was OK.One need satisfied, I looked up and my eye caught sight of another person - a business man dressed in a suit - on the other side of the road (a strange sight out here in the middle of nowhere). I asked him how far it was to the end of the route. He said this was it. I asked him if there was anywhere nearby where I might be able to buy some food. He told me it wasn't far to the next tiny village of Prosecco, but that it was likely that everything was closed.Still, all these little synchronicities and confirmations, almost from the very moment I'd asked for answers, were enough to confirm to me that I was to go forward, not back. I thanked him and went on. It was as if for every step forward I made, I was given a gift. A minute or so down the road, I was rewarded with the beautiful sight of a tree laden with hops. Now this felt special, because hops have a special significance for me. And I'd never seen them growing in the wild like that before. I picked a few off the tree and saved them for later (when I made some tea with them - they're seen as powerful nervous system relaxants).Anyway, the synchronicities and mini-miracles continued. I was given help in some form wherever I turned. When I reached Prosecco, it was pretty much deserted. I wandered into the only cafe there, however and, though the place was closed, there were two travellers there (who'd coincidentally walked the same route as me) who I sat down next to and had a very synchronicitous conversation with. Apparently everything was closed here. But there was a bus into Trieste, which was 6 km away down the side of the mountain, that went from the bus shelter a few metres away. Was this my next sign? I waited, still and quiet, certain that I would be given the answer what to do at exactly the right time. After a couple of minutes I was prompted to go buy a bus ticket from the machine on the opposite side of the road. Just as the ticket dropped out of the machine, I heard a call from the woman traveller, and the bus to Trieste rolled into view.It was as if, the deeper I surrendered into each moment - and the more I abandoned any attachment to outcome -I kind of fell into a space of true effortlessness and peace, where everything was provided in each moment and the flow just happened. I needed to do nothing. Everything I needed presented itself in each moment. It was as if the effortlessness and peace of my inner world was starting to shape the outer world, in some way. I felt truly blessed.

General, InspirationTonya