Sunday, November, 22, 2009
Back to a very familiar place, asking a very familiar question . . . What do I want? Why can’t I answer that? Why don’t I have at least a picture of that? Or, do I? I have a picture of a place, a rural, quiet place surrounded by the calming beauties and life in nature . . . I’m real clear on that, and not a whole lot more. Am I trying to know more upfront than is possible? Am I shrinking back from what I already do know for fear that I might be just dreaming an impossible, impractical dream? Am I afraid of re-creating a past experience of finding a place and then becoming so terribly lonely . . . What is it that I am seeking? It doesn’t seem like it should be so hard to know what I want . . . why is that? . . . I’m lost. I remember a poem titled
“Lost” . . .
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger.
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you.
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
by David Wagoner
I followed the thread of this poem out into the rain to one of my favorite places here in the Pacific NW. It’s a trail that runs along a lake surrounded by mountainous peaks rising up from the water like a magnificent humpback breaching . . . perhaps, just because they can. A mile or so down the trail I stopped and stood still as the poet recommends, and you know what? I didn’t feel lost anymore . . . I could hear my own heartbeat, see clearly with my own eyes . . . I found myself. Right there, standing among the wet leaves and water laden limbs my soul was pouring back into me with every rain drop falling on my face. Or, did the forest find me?
I am like my border collie who gets pensive and a bit anxious when inside 4 walls for too long. She needs to run like the wind, leap in the air and let that nose of hers smell the comings and goings of all the passers-by that have left a trace of their scent along the trail. Like her, I need to be where the wind blows, the rain falls, trees creak and sway, and ravens call above my head. I need to stand still and be found, know that I am not lost, listen to this “powerful stranger.” I need to stand still and remember that the forest knows where I am . . . it can and does find me . . .
I can’t say how it is for anyone else. What I find on that lakeside trail and so many other wild places I am acquainted with, are spaces that make sense to me. Places where I can think and feel my way into living and making sense of my life. Taking good care of myself means taking myself out where I find opportunity for alignment . . . giving my intuition and emotional spine what it needs to straighten so that my empathic lungs and heart can breath and operate fully.
That’s what this artist is thinking about today . . .
I relate. You know, I actually felt this kind of "knowing", this deep connection to my desire and feeling completely at home within myself this past month while doing the movement work. It's hard to articulate- in moments it was as if the energy of nature, of the forest was inside of me and I was full.
ReplyDeleteI love this work!
Thanks again for sharing, Nance