Eyes closed—heart open

I didn't know what to expect today. I hadn't Googled it. I hadn't read up on it. I hadn't planned it.

I just said, “I'll join in.”

Forest bathing.

Even the word itself sounds like something you feel rather than explain.

We went into the forest—but not just for a walk.

We walked differently.

Slower. Quieter. More consciously.

With our eyes closed, holding onto a rope, guided by others.

Trusting our senses. Trusting our feet.

Trusting what was to come.

We hung our “burdens”—the things that weigh us down—on trees.

A silent ritual.

And we walked on without turning back.

Without finding the spot again on the way back.

Letting go in the most literal sense.

We walked with a mirror in our hands – and looked up with it.

At the treetops, at the play of light, at the movement.

The forest floor became the summit. The forest path became the path through the kingdom of heaven.

A change of perspective that you never forget.

And in the end, there was no spectacular insight, no dramatic “aha” moment.

Just peace.

And the quiet feeling:

I am ready for things, even if I don't understand them yet.

That is something I try to live by again and again—staying open.

I have felt what I encounter again and again—in life, when traveling, in silence:

Openness changes everything.

Don't set out with expectations. Set out with trust.

In life. In others. In yourself.

Don't overthink everything, don't try to control everything, just try things out.

Get involved.

Even when there is no plan.

Especially then.

Because sometimes the journey doesn't begin with a destination—

but with the courage not to have to know everything.

And just let go.

Where you had no expectations—but return with more than you could have imagined.

Eyes closed—heart open.