Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Day 21: Checking in (and yes, more trees)

So, it's 2:04 in the afternoon right now, and I'm quite proud of myself for writing about 10 hours earlier than usual. :-) I will admit, straight off, that I did not sit in my meditation room first thing this morning--and I did get on the computer for a bit!--but I felt mostly okay with this, knowing I was about to go for my walk and meditation in the woods. 

And so, I did, arriving at about 10:25, and staying for almost an hour.  (I had a lesson scheduled at my house for noon, and I wanted to be back in time to take a quick shower beforehand.)

First of all, I must say: Despite taking the same trail, it feel different today, emotionally.  Much less excitable, humming, ecstatic--tossing myself into the experience of feeling trees headlong.  Almost giddy--that's what it was like just two days ago, on Monday.  No, today was much calmer, less hyped-up, more matter-of-fact.  Just being there and not making a big deal of it.  But equally beneficial, and equally spiritual, in a way.
On a physical level, too, it felt like a different experience today, with a cooler breeze and more dampness, especially in the ground.

  I ambled with the headphones on a bit, listening to my "This Week in Astrology" podcast that I had downloaded onto my phone.  (I listen to it every week.) But probably for only about 5 minutes, before I decided to take off the headphones.  I found the same tree that Greg and I so meticulously measured two days ago, and it felt calmer, just old, and I wondered if something was wrong with my "sensing" today--if I had lost it?--because I didn't feel it's energy so dramatically as before.  But, no--when I focused on it, I was still able to connect to its energy, and to gradually feel each layer as I progressively backed up over a hundred feet.  So, it was there, just more subtle. 

I continued to amble down the path, wondering if I would ever find a spot to sit and meditate.  And I did find a nice thick log, eventually.  Then I sat down, settled in.  First drawing a diagram of an interesting astrological configuration that's going on right now.  (I'd love to describe it, especially as it is so relevant to my life right now, but that is a tangent from this story.  So, not now.)  Then waiting, feeling the inspiration of another poem:

Right here is enough.
Can you feel the taste of peace?
It simmers quietly:
no magnificent bubbling over,
no dramatic crescendo,
no force, no fireworks.

Just this: quiet, still.

Can you stay here and rest?
Can you softly absorb
that which is already waiting
in your consciousness,
ready to be unlocked?
And just be.

Yes, I know you were afraid,
when the fire died,
that you had lost your chance at redemption,
that all of release was gone.

But consider:
Why release?
When you can simply rest quietly
in that which already is.

No, don't speak.
You are enough.
Be still.


When I finished the poem, I sat for a while--simple, easy meditation.  And then I heard a sound, some music in the distance.  It sounded like an ice cream truck jingle, but perhaps it was church bell chimes--just drifting effortlessly, joyfully on the air.  I recognized the melody from my childhood:

"He walks with me,
and he talks with me,
and he tells me I am his own.
And the joy we share,
as we tarry there,
none other has ever known."

I wrote down the words, then I sat for a bit more, then I walked back to my car.

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