Resting in nature can help to bring us out of listening to the ongoing conversation in our minds by expanding us out to include the sounds and rhythms that we are embedded within. Our earth body becomes naturally curious about the leaves rustling and the swooshing overhead. We are curious unlike being at a grocery store or at our desk, but curious… more like a recognition.
A recognition of reflection or partnership that we are woven through.
As the sun shines on our feet, we recognize this sun as she comes to be known to us, by feeling the warmth and turning toward her shine. Our body awakens, to something other than our involuntary participation in a conversation that continues, whether we are aware of it or not.
We commit to a participation of exchange with the natural environment and this fascination breeds relaxation. The engagement is reciprocal. Our bodies disarm in the presence of the earth’s rhythm. A much gentler pace and pause envelops us while sounds arise and dissolve in our midst. We are no longer outside of this landscape, but within its’ engagement.
It is heard, as we hear it.
It is seen, as we see it.
The clouds shift, build and disperse and we are there as witness, participant, and mutual creator.
Delight may emerge as we notice ourselves breathing with the sway of a horse’s tail in the wind or the caress of the small brook over the dried up grass.
We forget ourselves.
We are woven into the web of all creatures. It is not our world alone. When we make time for a slow walk outdoors, as respite from all the essentials that “need” to happen, and begin to share contact with the elements around us, changes may be noted within us.
We may feel unrestrained, rescued, or reminded of our origins. Our sensations and breathing welcome us back. We are moved by the density of large trunks, invited by outstretched branches and hold still on the very ground that her roots derive their connection and nourishment. Who or what is being re-claimed?
Silence. Slowing. Noticing.
This is tending the ground of our own nature.
If we can resist the urge to make this time productive, we have a chance at awe. If we can suspend talking so we can feel ourselves being felt, then we may encounter magic. The nuanced changes of light are missed, when we fail to notice, as are the spotted hawk gliding so low over us that we glide for a split-second too.
How are we entraining ourselves to dismiss our participating in mystery or the something that can’t be measured, attained, or used for our gain? I question whether our eternal longing for more is not made possible by our unwillingness to be able to absorb what is already in front of us.
May we all have a chance to rest on the earth in solitude and feel what arises to meet us there.
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