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.