Tag: wild whispers

Land and Sky: A Deep Listening Exercise

“Each landscape asks the same question, I am watching myself in you–are you watching yourself in me?” ~ Laurence Durrell

Sit quietly. Listen to the land, to the sky (in this picture or in a nature space where you are).

Breathe it in and listen.

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What do you hear? When you reach into its essence and touch its sacredness, peace and stillness, what do you feel? What stories do you find in the midst of its light and shadows? Which parts of yourself do the land and sky mirror back to you? What do they have to teach you?

Listen. Look deeper. Sense beyond the surface.

The wild Earth is always whispering something, a story, a poem, a deep soul healing wisdom.

And if stories are what you are looking for, then it is worth checking out Sarah Elwell’s new storybook collection, The Coracle Sky. This wild sky writer’s stories are so intertwined with the energy of land, sea and sky. I’m enjoying what I’ve read so far and with The Coracle Sky loaded in my e-book reader as I prepare to journey to the coast this coming week, I know that my soul will be fed with magic and mystery.

May you always find ways to listen to the wise and healing wild whispers of the Earth.

 

The Process of Becoming

I search for wisdom and inspiration in Nature. To heal myself and to share the spiritual insights I find with others in the hope that what I experience and write about will heal them in some way too. On a morning like this when the silver light shines down from a dark grey sky into the humble life of the garden, Mother Nature makes it so easy to find what I am looking for. There is an ambiance of holiness in the air that I want to touch, breathe in and draw deep into the subtle parts of me. Stories write themselves in the breeze, bits of wisdom drip from the Cyprus tree and the clouds weave wild words in a language of their own.

I feel like a priestess in the herb garden this morning. It’s like the smell of the damp earth and rain awakens memories of another time, another life, and I feel the presence of Goddess even more. I pick some borage flowers and sage from for my morning tea and a thought crosses my mind. Doesn’t the phrase ‘heaven on earth’ seems made for days like this where pieces of heaven fall with the rain to touch the once dry soil? Because when the world is wet and grey, it is so still while a sacred glow falls over the land and to me it feels like an imagined heaven.

My pondering mind is full of questions today. What is in a raindrop? The secret dreams of the river queen flowing from the mountains to the ocean? And what does the tree feel when she’s soaked in raindrops that glisten like diamonds in the soft light? Does she revel in the coolness of their touch? Sometimes when the branches are heavy from their weight it seems like the raindrops are pulling the tree downward to the earth and saying “Look down. Look how far you’ve come! As you reach toward the sky, never forget the journey you’ve taken.”

Maybe the tree needs this reminder so that she doesn’t feel stagnant, rooted in one place for eternity. Maybe she needs to know that although she doesn’t flow across lands or etch meandering river course ways into the sand, she is still moving, charting her soul’s path as she branches into the sky. In fact, don’t we all need these reminders from time to time? We need to be reminded that no matter how slow or treacherous our journey may seem sometimes, we are always growing. Even when the heart’s desires seem far off, we are in the process of becoming. We are in the process of becoming the writer, the healer or the better version of ourselves that we so long to be. Half the joy of life is in the process, the experience and the journey after all.

While it’s never helpful to dwell in the past, it’s necessary sometimes to look back and take note of how far you’ve come, to take stock of the obstacles you’ve overcome and the circumstances you’ve triumphed over. Sometimes you just need to look back to count the stepping stones you’ve passed to know that you are actually moving forward and then be grateful for where you are right now and what you’re journeying toward.

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The Words Remembered

It is a strange thing that happens to me at times. I wake up with passages in my head, words from books that I read long ago. Lines from poems I haven’t thought of in years. And sometimes, in the middle of the night I go searching for these books, to see if my memory of what was written is true.

It’s funny that I don’t always remember full stories, or the characters and the journeys they went on, just little snippets of things that tugged at my heart strings and sentences that captured an essence so real to me.

Last night, I remembered this beautiful passage from Zora Neal Hurson’s novel, Their Eyes Were Watching God:

“So Janie waited a bloom time, and a green time … and an orange time. But when the pollen again gilded the sun and sifted down on the world she began to stand around the gate and expect things. What things? She didn’t know exactly. Her breath was gusty and short. She knew things that nobody had ever told her. For instance, the words of the trees and the wind. She often spoke to falling seeds and said, ‘Ah hope you fall on soft ground,’ because she had heard seeds saying that to each other as they passed. She knew the world was a stallion rolling in the blue pasture of ether. She knew that God tore down the old world every evening and built a new one by sun-up. It was wonderful to see it take form with the sun and emerge from the gray dust of its making. The familiar people and things had failed her so she hung over the gate and looked up the road towards way off.”

I honestly wonder where I was and who I was with in the dream world for me to wake up thinking of this.

I tried to remember what it was about this piece that touched me several years ago when I first read it. The answers came flooding back. The poetic genius with which Zora crafted her words took my breath away – the brilliant description of the passage of the seasons and time, the air of ethereal mystery and the reference to Nature’s wild whispers.

There is something in this scene that reminds me of my younger self who also knew things that nobody had ever told her. Like how to light a candle under the full moon or how to place an amethyst crystal on my brow chakra to calm my thoughts back when I didn’t even know what a chakra was or that crystals carried healing energy.

It connected with the part of me who heard whispers in the wind and music among the gently swaying grasses. That was something that my younger self could never explain to anyone, so when I read this I felt understood.

This passage also reminds me of the younger self who stood at the gate listening to the sky, not knowing what the rest of her life would bring, but expecting ‘things’ too.

Wild things. Mysterious things. Exciting things.

Things that would take me away from my small broken existence and away from the ‘people and things’ who’d failed me.

I didn’t know what form they’d take back then, but I searched, expected and waited for these ‘things’ that I sensed would steer me to my dreams. It felt like an eternity before those things should up and I was finally old enough to step outside of the gates and walk the road towards those them. But fortunately, the time always comes when change sets in.

Since then, I’ve continued to look forward and walk deeper into peace and personal freedom, building my life and re-wilding my soul. Which makes me wonder if I’ve remember this now to help me recognise how far I’ve come and the headway I’ve made in my attempts to remain true to the girl that I once was? That is something to feel good about.

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