Not a Petrified City

 Novalis, the 18th century German philosopher, mystic and poet, wrote, "Nature is a petrified magic city." I wish I could have read this quotation in its wider context, because as it stands, I could not disagree more. At least with his first adjective... magic city, yes, petrified...?

Because one thing I know for certain, Nature is *never* petrified. Since lockdown began, I have been walking most days in Salcey Forest, the entrance to which is only five minutes' walk away from my front door. And I have been thrilled by being able to witness the ever-changing landscape of my daily walk, from the buds and new growth of Spring, the full glorious greenness of Summer and the wonderfully changeful colours of Autumn. Even today, on a grey and misty morning, I have seen things still growing, still changing. And I know that even in the depths of Winter, there will still be activity in the natural world - I will still be able to see evergreen trees, and holly berries and listen to the birds overhead. Seeds will be waiting under the soil, ready to burst forth with new life next year.

Even mountains and rocks, like the ones pictured on the postcard, are not entirely petrified. They may seem so, to our human eyes, but if they are also subject to change as wind, sun and rain act on them. And rivers and seas have the power to soften jagged outlines over time. One of my regular activities, when we visit our favourite part of Wales, is to walk along the stones thrown up by the tide and marvel at the rounded shapes and multifarious colours of the pebbles.

A while ago, my son persuaded us to watch an astonishing video on YouTube, called Timelapse of the Future: A Journey to the End of Time, which took the longest view of our future as it is possible to take. It is here and is well worth a watch. It showed that everything, absolutely everything, is subject to change.

Watching it made me feel very small and insignificant. On the scale of universes, we are not even microscopice dots on microscopic dots. Nevertheless, we are here in a particular time and place, and it is our responsibility to do whatever we can, where we are, to ensure that Nature continues to be a magic city, not a petrified one.

Trees are Poems

 Khalil Gibran, author of The Prophet, wrote, "Trees are poems that the earth writes in the sky." When I read that, my heart soared in recognition.

Because that is *exactly* the feeling I get when I walk in Salcey Forest and see the trees outlined against the sky, whether that sky is blue or grey. Each tree unique, whether it is in its prime, or a young sapling, or an old tree somehow clinging to life, finding the strength to bring forth new growth each Spring. As Tolkien wrote in The Lord of the Rings, "some as different as one tree is from another of the same name but quite different growth and history; and some as different as one tree-kind from another, as birch from beech, oak from fir."

All this year, since lockdown began, I walked most days in the Forest, and have watched the trees go through their annual cycle of the budding and new growth and blossom of Spring, through the full-leaved glory of Summer, and the fruits of Autumn, before their leaves started to change colour and fall. And now some of them are naked and splendid, their bare branches writing patterns in the sky. And they are wonderful in their complexity. 

And I love the interplay between trees and the landscape they inhabit. This year, I have posted hundreds of photos on Facebook of beautiful trees... because their beauty fills my heart with wonder and gratitude, that I live on the same planet. The glory of God made manifest in creation.

What fills your heart with wonder? 

Meditation and Clarity

 I've recently been re-reading my battered copy of Get Some Headspace by ex-Buddhist monk and meditation teacher, Andy Puddicombe. There is a Headspace app, which I signed up to about four years ago, and use as part of my morning sit.

As he writes in his Introduction, "The practise of meditation is about much more than simply sitting down for a set period of time each day. Although it may be a key component, it is just one part of a broader system of mind training that incorporates three distinct aspects... Traditionally, meditation students were taught first how to approach the technique, then how to practise it, before finally learning how to integrate the techniques into their everyday lives."

As I have said before, I am perfectly capable of sitting still for ten (or even twenty) minutes every morning. But bringing my mind to a similar stillness is much more challenging. So I've gone back to basics, and re-read the book. And my morning sit this morning was much the better for it. There can be a peaceful calmness about just sitting, following the breath, if we can learn to focus lightly, but with awareness.

Not engaging with our thoughts and feelings while meditating is a tricky process, and I, like many others, often try too hard. The trick is to acknowledge the thoughts and feelings as they arise, but not to engage with them. He gives the analogy of sitting by a busy road, watching cars go by, and explains that "gentle curiosity" is the key... "observing and noticing what happens to the body and mind as these emotions [and thoughts] come and go, [having] a sense of ease with whatever... is present."

The word "clarity" has been jumping out at me recently. Puddicombe shares the analogy of a pool of clear water - when it is still, we are able to see all the way to the bottom. But if we start to throw pebbles into it, the water becomes murky, unclear. Those pebbles are our thoughts and emotions, disturbing the quiet calm of the water, our meditative mind. 

Puddicombe writes, "The thing to remember about clarity is that what needs to become clear, will naturally become clear. Meditation is not about rooting around in the recesses of the mind, digging up old memories, getting caught up in analysis and trying to make sense of it all. ... Clarity arises in its own time and its own way. Sometimes clarity will mean becoming more aware of the thinking process. At other times the awareness might shift to the emotions or physical sensations. Whatever happens and whatever you become more aware of, allow it to happen naturally."

Which is why I agree with Jean Paul, author of this week's quotation, when he wrote, "Our greatest experiences are not our loudest, but our quietest hours." We live in a complex world, with many demands on our bodies, minds and spirits. The clarity which can come from a regular meditation practice is an essential counterpoint to this. If we can find a place of clarity in our meditation practice, through using gentle curiosity, it may help us to lead more mindful, calm lives.

Living in the Present

 Blaise Pascal, the French mathematician, philosopher and theologian, had it right, when he wrote, "The present is the only time that is really ours."

I am reminded of this each morning, as I take my daily constitutional in Salcey Forest. I am so blessed to live within walking distance of it, particularly at this time of year, when the Autumn colours are at their most glorious.

Yesterday morning, I went for my walk early doors, and it was wonderful - wonder-full. The sun was shining and the golds, browns, coppers and bronzes of the Autumn leaves were glowing in its light. In this Autumn weather, I take the same route every day, out and back, because my circular 'Summer' route is too muddy, even with boots. And had it not been that the ground was both cold and muddy underfoot, I would have taken off my walking boots and gone barefoot, because it really did feel like I was treading on holy ground.

At the furthest point of my walk, I went to turn round, and this caught my eye...

I stood still, holding my breath, drinking in the beauty. I truly felt I was in the presence of the Divine. I don't know how long I stood there... a couple of minutes perhaps. Then bowed my head and gave thanks.

The other wonder-full thing about yesterday's walk was the presence of a pale moon high in the blue sky. But whenever I tried to take a photo of it, it was masked by trees. Until I found this...

And I think of the times I have walked through these same woods, my mind full of other things - the next scene for my book (I find walking helps me to think this through) or the tasks of the day ahead of me, and have missed this glory.

Early morning sunlight

filtering through the trees, 

sharpness of the shadows.

Pale moon in the blue sky,

pure birdsong in my ears,

Undiluted wonder

takes my breath away.