I sit on a bench down below in our yard, commune with a giant redwood tree. I feel its gratitude for the hose of running water I’ve placed at her feet. We appreciate the hum.
When we moved to this house over forty years ago, the tree was a quiet presence at 12 or 14 feet. She was surrounded and protected by giant pines. Over the years, the pines became diseased and had to go, so the protected tree now stands tall and alone in her reach for, and touch of the sky.
One of her offspring grows nearby protected by her branches and shade. Also protected are two little redwoods from Chris and Frieda’s wedding. They were sprouts and now they are four feet tall. That’s exponential growth in 11 or 12 years.
As may be obvious, I love stillness. Right now I’m surrounded with activity as squirrels scamper through the branches of the trees, and jays squawk, crows caw, and smaller birds add higher notes on which to raise and rest the spine. And yet, for a moment, there is no time. I have no idea what time it is, no need to know. It’s Labor Day, a day of rest. I see light coming to the tree, so movement is happening, but time, what, in this moment, is that?
Last night I listened to a Sensory Awareness recording. As I’ve shared, Sensory Awareness is a practice, a cultivation of awareness of the inner/outer environment, recognition of the one world we share. It’s simple really, and yet, like meditation, it’s considered “work”. We’ve been trained to habit which may allow a zoning out, rather than meeting each moment “new”.
Francesca was leading on the recording, and invited us to bring awareness to a daily task. As she released us to our journey, she said “Bon Voyage”. Those words reverberate through me as I sit here now. I see myself waving goodbye as those on shore shout “Bon Voyage”, and yet, I, too, stand on the shore waving. I’m ship, both, all.
I woke this morning saying Bon Voyage to myself, seeing myself rising and carried on the journey of this day.
I performed my morning tasks, ah, performed, no, I was “in” my morning tasks, tasks and I meeting as one. I remembered a Huma session I experienced years ago. I was on the table, and the words “Nothing Matters”, reverberated through me. The practitioner affirmed, “Yes, nothing matters,” and I said, no, that’s not it. Nothing matters. I wanted her to understand that I was feeling that Nothing matters too.
For me, awareness of what we what perceive of as nothingness supports this examination of stillness and movement. I may look like I’m still but my heart is pumping, ears and cells are antennas open to receive, and lungs are processing oxygen and carbon dioxide in a living exchange with trees. Plus, I’m on a planet that’s moving and turning in space.
Stillness hums like water running through a hose.