Slow Me Down

I come to this season wanting to soak up its atmosphere. I come to be moved and surprised in simple, yet subtle, ways.

But I have to be patient and wait for the Spirit to reveal, in its own time, what it will reveal. I cannot force insights to come. I cannot entice wisdom to descend. I have to trust and be receptive of gifts that I don’t anticipate and which I may not think I need. I have to be open to the unknown. This is a time of active waiting, and I confess that I do not wait well.

Slow me down that I may listen. Slow me down that I may hear. Slow me down that I may be present to this moment and to the people here.                                     

The Environment of Our Lives

Respect and Responsibility

A week ago, I listened to Lauret Savoy speak at the Aldo Leopold Center in Wisconsin about how our lives are intertwined with the environment. Savoy is Professor of Environmental Studies at Mount Holyoke College. She read passages from her book, Trace, which explores how her life was formed by the landscape of her family’s history, the places they lived, and her love of national parks, and she shared the words of Leopold.

Stop Being a Man and Focus on Being Human

It is never okay to treat another human being as an object. For any reason. Ever.

Men are taught to be rugged individuals. We are taught to think, take charge, and make decisions, even if we don’t know what’s going on or understand what needs to be done.

Men are not taught the way of the heart. We are not taught how to be part of a community where ideas and insights are shared. We are not taught to respect each other. We’re taught to genuflect to power.

Brother Sun, Sister Moon

The feast day of Francis of Assisi was earlier this month. Clare’s feast day is in August. In this harvest season, as I drive through the countryside past fields of soybeans and corn, I think of Clare and Francis and their great love for nature and their mutual respect for each other. They were equal partners, even though Francis gets most of the press.

Solace of Nature and Grief

When grief knots me up, I head for nature. Breathing the fresh air of the mountains pulls me out of my funk.

Nature demands nothing of me. It accepts me as I am.

Nature goes about its life and provides openings for me to participate as I want. I can sit beside a river for hours and let the sounds of the undulating water soothe my sorrow. I can wander in the forest’s cool shadows when the heat and brightness of the sun become too much. Or I can tromp across a mountain and physically work out my anger and frustrations.

Sacredness of Nature

We have lost intimacy with nature.

Most of us don’t work outside. We live in cities where our environments are climate-controlled. We no longer can tell what the weather will do by going outside and looking. We have to consult our smart phones and check the weather websites.

The wilderness is a wild place, archaic, and exists on the edge of what we understand. But if we do not venture into it, and hike into the hesitancy of what we fear about nature, then we will never understand the wilderness that lives inside us. This is no app for this.

Intimacy With Nature

I hike alone in Yosemite because I love the silence.

I love the presence of nature and want to be present to it. I hike alone to lose myself in the Otherness of the outdoors, and find myself home. The Ahwahnechees believed that humans are kin with the animals and birds, the mountains, rivers, and the sky. How can I come into nature and not pay attention to the members of my family?

To perceive what nature is and what it is doing, I need to involve all my senses. Of course, I want to be aware of large, predatory animals moving through the woods, but I also want to see beyond the generalities and notice their specifics, how they look, smell, and feel.

Hiking With Nature Alone

When I hike by myself I’m not alone. Nature goes with me.

Nature is a companion who walks at my pace, and hides surprises along the trail, like yellow fungus on the backside of a tree. Sometimes nature talks so loudly that I can’t hear myself think, like when I’m standing at the bottom of a waterfall and feel the earth vibrate from the pounding water. Sometimes it murmurs so quietly that I have to get down on my knees and lean in close to hear what it’s saying.

The Presence of Place

When I go to Yosemite, I want to be alone with nature. As soon as I'm within the valley walls, a deep sense of peace settles over me. Every granite dome and peak looks glorious glowing in the sun. Even a nondescript spot on the valley wall below Yosemite Point is intricate with details, which I notice only because it is framed by tree branches where I'm momentarily standing. 

People travel to natural places in search for what is missing in their lives.

Morning Fog

Before dawn, fog moves up from the river, through the forest, and fills the woods behind my house. It’s a bit gloomy. Yesterday we had sunshine, and the brightness brought a surge of energy. Today, not so much. I want to put on a sweater, sit in a chair by the window, drink hot tea, and read a book about someone else’s adventures.

As the sun rises, the white particles of mist turn and twirl on the whims of the breeze. It looks like a cloud of fine snow is dancing.

Then I notice.

Walking

Out walking this morning, I’m shocked to find that nature has gotten along just fine without me. This time I’m not heading into the woods. I’m walking on the streets of my neighborhood.

I haven’t been outside for a week, not really, being busy with tasks inside the house. I don’t count driving to the store as being outdoors. The car is just a mobile room.

In the meantime, the leaves have popped out on trees and converted their empty branches to umbrellas of thick green. Bushes and plants are flowering, and birds are filling the air with chirps, chortles, whistles, and songs.

Change Your Neighborhood

If we are afraid of being in the woods by ourselves, if we don’t feel energized by hiking through the mountains or walking on the beach of an ocean, then we have cut ourselves off from one of our main sources of wisdom.

When being in nature makes us feel alive, when we have a special place that renews our spirit, then we will work to protect it. This is where our ecology begins.

Our doing something makes a difference, even if it doesn’t seem like much. Imagine if everyone stood up and protected their sacred place in nature. The one percent standing up and protecting a small area of nature makes a difference. No, not that one percent.

Boundaries

(photo of the top of Yosemite Falls)

We all have boundaries that we don’t want to cross, whether they are emotional, physical, or mental, because we get comfortable where we are.

Taking risks and crossing physical boundaries isn’t a problem for me. Late one October, I traveled to Yosemite anticipating a week of dry, cool, but sunny weather. Perfect for hiking through the glories of fall. One morning I came out of my tent to find that winter had moved in and the mountains around me had turned white. I went on a hike to the top of Yosemite Falls because I wanted to see what this looked like.

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On the switchbacks going up the canyon wall, snow begins to appear at the 6000-foot elevation. It gets deeper the higher I go, making the upward hike slippery and a little dicey.

Land Prophets

This month, as April encourages us to linger outdoors and play, we honor the death of Rachel Carson on the 14^th, remember the birth of John Muir on the 21^st and celebrate Earth Day on the 22^nd.

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The Land Prophets dedicate their lives to showing others how to do less damage to the land. They confront people in politics and businesses who exploit the land only to make money, who listen to special interest groups rather than the everyday people they represent, and who betray the public trust as trustees of the land. These are some of our prophets.

In California, John Muir saw sheep destroying the wilderness meadows of the Sierra Nevada and worked to get them removed. In the process, he helped create the Sierra Club and the National Park system that has saved large tracts of wilderness areas. He also wanted to save Hetch Hetchy, but the politicians in San Francisco sold nature out for votes.

We Are Trees

Tiny buds on the trees are giving the woods behind my house a light green sheen.

Last week I noticed a beautiful bare tree. Without any leaves, its entire structure was visible —the trunk, main branches, even the smaller branches as they tapered out into thousands of tiny fingers. The tree was so symmetrical that I gazed at it in admiration, and then I had to leave because I was in a car at a stoplight.

We are like trees.

Send Them Outside to Play

If you have no relationship with nature,

you have no relationship with humanity.

-- Krishnamurti

The landscape of one’s home is always sacramental.

 It molds our character. It’s the soil out of which we grow.

 It’s where we either encounter the divine

or we never make the connection.

-- Seamus Heaney

If we have a relationship with nature, we do better in relationships with people because we realize that there are bigger truths than our own personal ones, and we can learn from nature. Nature has a way of humbling us, and reminding us that we’re not in control outdoors. In nature we become aware of a greater force at work in the world.

Listen to the Dawn

On Nourishment 

Listening To The Dawn.

A short essay of mine published by Mindful Matter.

 http://www.holstee.com/blogs/mindful-matter/113326533-meditation-listen-to-the-dawn

Sitting In the Woods

I’m in the woods again.

Winter has departed but the green of spring hasn’t yet arrived. The woods are just sitting here. Waiting. Black trees sticking out of a layer of brown leaves.

Not much is going on. The woodchuck is still hibernating. The deer haven’t come through in quite a while. The birds stopped coming to the feeder and are foraging somewhere else. And don’t get me started on the owl that’s been on vacation for six months. Everyday the woods look the same, although today fog is drifting through.

Cadence of Silence

It’s odd we don’t think it’s odd that we regard silence as deficient and not as full. 

We fill the air with talk, music, sports, news and weather updates until we fall exhausted into bed, the sounds of the day still ringing in our heads. Yet we feel unsatisfied because we’ve heard little that we want to remember. We feel empty. In the manner of the Quakers, we should remain silent until we have something important to say.

Old Trees and Landscapes

There’s a street near my house that had a small woods of majestic, large trees hanging over the road. It provided cool shade even on the hottest summer day. Some trees were perhaps one hundred years old. For one block it felt like walking through Sherwood Forest with its thick trunks and dense canopy.

It used to be a space that made me linger and encouraged me to breathe deeply and get my bearings as I headed off to begin my day. That small woods made me happy.

Being Spiritual Outdoors

When people talk about spirituality, a number of standard terms are used that have different meanings for different people. We have our own preferences, of course. Some terms we bristle at, because of bad experiences in the past, while others we cozy up to like old friends. Each term covers a huge amount of territory with many nuances.

In regards to what we actually mean, we also use many of the terms interchangeably. So don’t get hung up on a term. What we are seeking is connection to the deeper reality, a numinous experience. Substitute the term that has meaning for you.

Sequoias

(from a visit a few years ago)

Leaving my car at the entrance of the Mariposa Grove of giant sequoias, I walk slowly through the deep snow and let the silence of the grove wrap around me, moving from one giant tree to the next. I place my hand on the thick red bark of one and feel its endurance.

Beneath my feet, its roots connect to the roots of the other trees in the grove, and I feel the strength of community. Leaning back, I marvel at the dimensions of a giant sequoia. In its canopy, an ecosystem of life exists, far above the visible life I see from the forest floor.

I feel insignificant here, and imagine how dwarfed I’d look in a photograph. These 3000-year-old elders of the mountains hold centuries of memories in their branches. In the quietness of the afternoon, I feel the presence of shared wisdom.

Nature As Revelation

John Burroughs wanted people to go outside and enjoy the nature that existed around them wherever they lived, whether this was farmland, forest, ocean, desert, or a city park. He was concerned that people were staying indoors too much.

He wrote this in the late 1800s.

I think he’d be more concerned today, because we drive, rather than walk, to the local grocery, if we still have a local grocery. New housing developments often don’t have sidewalks. Most of our houses don’t have porches for sitting and chatting with neighbors walking by. We don’t linger after dinner to watch the sun set over the trees, or see the moon rise. Our children don’t go outside to play, and many are afraid of being alone in the woods.

Shoveling Snow

The world is quiet this morning after the snowstorm. The city feels cloaked and protected by snow.

Sounds outside are muffled.

Furnaces come on, and curls of steam and smoke rise from every snow-clad roof in the neighborhood. It looks like we’re living in a small village and everyone is cooking breakfast on wood stoves.

River Teeth - Beautiful Things essay

"Waiting for Owls." micro nonfiction. Read it in 2 sips of coffee.

http://www.riverteethjournal.com/blog/2016/02/08/waiting-for-owls-

Doing Nothing, Just Sitting In the Woods

Some days, when’s a lull between the usual rush of activities, I don’t know what to do. I’m restless and look around for something productive to work on. Then I see the woods.

In midwinter, the woods in central Illinois are bare and brown. The sky is generally gray, and on most days there isn’t enough sun to satisfy my cat. Without leaves in the way, I can see a mile over to the next hill where there are more brown trees. Brown doesn’t interest me much. I prefer green.

Yosemite in Winter

from Mountains of Light

Rising from my sleeping bag, I crawl out of the tent to take a dawn hike around the frosted meadows for an hour or so. The sun peeks over Glacier Point and lights up the bare granite rock of North Dome and the meadow below with a warm yellow glow.

In Cook’s Meadow, acorn woodpeckers hop up the trunks of dead trees, picking out acorns they stored there in the fall. By Sentinel Bridge, three young bucks are hanging out looking for trouble; their snorts come out in white puffs. 

Invocation of Trees

The trees, now naked of leaves, stand proud in the woods behind my house. They hold their strong bodies against the cold and rise up to the sky, rise up with their arms open in thankfulness to Creation for the year that has been, rise up in reflection and praise.

The birch trees twirl in the breeze with open hands like whirling Sufis, reuniting heaven and earth. The pine and fir trees, heavy with snow, bow their heads and scatter their resinous incense on the air. The oak trees feed acorns to the squirrels who have slept in, and protect nuthatches and wrens with their stout branches.