I once read a quote somewhere about how nature’s pace is always slow to medium, in stark contrast with the ever-quickening multi-tasking of modern human life.
Having recently returned from drinking in the majestic redwoods, riverways, and rocky coastal shores of southern Oregon and northern California with my family, I’ve been reflecting upon the power of the healing resonance of nature’s groundedness and serene beauty. And how, when we humans are able to consciously attune to this, the qualities of awe, wonder, simplicity and appreciation can naturally arise. Patience can show up like a close friend. Quiet spaciousness and birdsong can birth a quality of hope that is rooted in the truth of the life-affirming resilience of the web of life that we are.
Throughout the pandemic years and today’s difficult and challenging times, I am acutely aware that my practice has become more nature-based than ever. The data is in: when I am among the trees, whether on vacation or driving and walking my everyday life, and I practice seeing and sensing their groundedness and serenity (the big picture beyond our human-centered drama), I know in my bones that I am made up of the same elements as those trees and I, too, contain those capacities. From my experience, this clear-seeing is often the building block from which my capacity for kindness, caring, and compassionate action rises. And, conversely, when I hold the intention to align with kindness, caring, and compassionate action, this helps me to remember to sense the trees and experience the full picture. In slowing down and tuning in to nature’s beauty, pace, and changing seasons, we can feel supported:
- in aligning with a visceral sense of deep rootedness
- in remembering our capacity for steadiness, flexibility and resilience
- in touching the peace that is present in the natural world in this very moment
- in remembering our interconnection with all of life and what really matters
These life-giving practices that encourage clear-seeing and care feel so practical and essential at this time on Earth and, as often shared by Ayya Santacitta, we are not alone in wanting to be a part of the healing. The whole web of life is this resilience. We do this together: A fallen redwood log blooms a dense forest of bright green clovers. Winter opens into Spring, warms into Summer, lets go into Fall, and begins again. Baby ferns unfurl from the ash-filled wildfire ground.
May tuning in to nature, and our daily intentions and actions, support us in walking, step-by-step, through these difficult times, together. May we take refuge in what steadies and supports us on our path. May we remember our connection with all of life and our own sense of agency. May we know that we can, and will, play our part in the healing of ourselves, our communities, and our world.