“Shall we meditate?” was what I said to hubby when I saw this bench in the woods last weekend. Not wanting to feel the questioning looks of passersby, I suggested to face the woods instead of the path.
The forest doesn’t question. It accepts my presence and what I do. It watches without judgment, just like it does for every living thing in it. It breathes in what I breathe out and I breathe in what it breathes out. The rustle of the leaves echo my thoughts which I release. Or does the act of releasing cause the rustling? I’m part of this forest, that’s what it’s telling me. The boundaries are all in my mind.
The timer went off. We stood up and moved on.
But the lesson remains.
I take my photos with my mobile phone. When I was standing here last weekend, I had a very slight twinge of “if only”.
If only I had the right camera to document this particular moment in my life. If only I had the skills to capture the light reflecting from the meadow, the glimmer of movement in the underbrush, the dust motes lazily riding the breeze.
But I didn’t have the right camera, and still don’t, nor do I have the skills, so I just snapped this as a reminder of that moment, and took home a feeling of peace from those few seconds when the world stood still so that the tiny gifts of nature could do their dance in silence.
This reminds me of the words Randall Jarrell wrote:
“The days went by for him, all different and all the same. The boy was happy, and yet he didn’t know that he was happy, exactly: he couldn’t remember having been unhappy. If one day as he played at the edge of the forest some talking bird had flown down and asked him: “Do you like your life” he would not have known what to say, but would have asked the bird: “Can you not like it?”