Savoring the Small & Simple
As we move into our fifth year living off-grid and in the woods, I feel the quiet presence of the sangha of trees around us continue to sift and settle down deeper into my spirit, heart, breath, and bones.
Two days ago after dinner, Mike and I took a walk up the canyon on our gravel road. The absence of traffic and ruckus of industry, the still quietude of nature, was a soothing balm. I’m convinced the quiet calm of nature has the power to heal many afflictions. I was feeling heavy with the pain and sorrow of a loved one. After dinner, a big part of me just wanted to turn in and go to bed earlier than my usual early. But instead I decided to go for a walk. And Mike decided to come with me.
We took in our surroundings with the practice of slowing down and sacred pause. We invited in and welcomed within us the scent and sight of pines and firs. We observed up close the slowly ripening service berries. And marveled in the gold and glittering slants of sunlight filtering through the trees. Summer in Montana is its own brand of bountiful living.
In a world of hyper stimulation, nonstop noise and a constant stream of others always around, savoring the small and simple can seem a nearly impossible undertaking. Surrounded by a society that often prides itself on more is better and better is never enough, it can also feel like no where close to being enough. The woods are teaching me to unlearn the unhealthy and unkind workaholic stay always busy and cram as much as you possibly can in the span of every day mentality. I was already on that pathway of unlearning prior to moving into the woods, but I feel as though I am now receiving advanced teachings by incredibly gifted and graceful wise teachers.
I’ve been feeling a deeper sense of what it means to slow down generating within me. A deeper connection with what I feel is truly most important and valuable and beneficial, to myself, to others, and the world. It’s a good feeling. It’s a feeling of being on the right course.
The other day I was able to practice cutting cauliflower out on the porch as though it were the most important thing I could be doing in that moment. I was able to devote my full and loving attention to it. It is so easy to discount this small and ordinary act as being insignificant, but to be authentically present and sincere is no small thing.
Yesterday, as I was working on the starts of this blog post, I sat outside on the porch as I typed. But I spent more time looking up and watching the poetry of life happening around me than I did writing. There were butterflies landing on snowberry bushes and birds visiting the seed and water we put out. While this isn’t a recipe for staying focused and discipline in one’s writing, sometimes other things are more important. And what I deemed to be most important yesterday was taking the time to savor the small and simple things taking place in real time all around me.
