The Reciprocity of Nature

Crafting an Empty Mountain (EM) blog post when I am physically elsewhere feels a little strange. It’s the flip of what I imagine travel writers must feel like when they are typing about their excursions far from home from the comforts of their own abode. Still. They do it. So I will give it a go.

I am currently at Deer Park Monastery (DPM) for the span of 4-weeks, to help cover some time off for my workmate. All the time Mike and I have spent at DPM over the past 12-years is infused into our endeavors at EM. And when I’m here, it becomes all the more clear to me how much I appreciate this lovely practice place.

Something I’ve been reflecting on lately centers around how, since moving into the woods and slow-starting the seeds of EM a little over 3 years ago, my sensitivity level to and with nature is increasing. My relationship with it is growing. Like a close friendship developing from time spent together and paired with mutual interest in energetic investment, my connection with it is deepening. And I am starting to attune to the reciprocity of nature. In other words, I am starting to have a felt sense of communion with certain aspects of the natural world on a more intimate level.

Things have been hard over the past week. I don’t want to derail this post by going into the specifics, but if you want to learn more you can hop over to my personal practice blog here. The point I want to make is this. One of the things I’ve been noticing during this hard week is how woven and tethered I feel to the fabric of nature and the greater universe. To the rising sun and the sailing moon. To the bounty of what grows around me. To the animals that sing and hop and crawl and fly. The connection points go beyond the surface level of seeing. I am experiencing a depth of communion that feels new.

I am beginning to feel a flowing cycle of reciprocity. An authentic exchange of energy back and forth. Nature responds to me and I respond to her. I care for her and she cares for me. Like very close friends, we are sad together and we are joyful together and we are both made stronger by the bond we share.

I invite her into my heart and she offers me a place of true belonging and safe harbor. I treasure her, savor her and express my sincere gratitude, and she treasures me back with gifts of great nourishment. There is a genuine friendship I feel that goes well beyond what I can put into words. I am learning that my tribe of close friends can include those who grow from the ground; those who fly in the sky; and those who howl in the hills. Sister Moon isn’t just some distant rock, she is a close companion. Someone I look to for guidance and support. When the sun rises, I am renewed by his grace and beauty. I feel them both deep in my bones and in my heart.

Nature is becoming less of an idea or an abstract notion or a place I visit that exists somewhere other than where I am currently standing. Nature is all around and also within me. I hear her calling. I feel her breath inhaling and exhaling me. We are united & inseparable. We rise & fall together. There is no me outside of her. There is no her outside of me.

I have been leaning more heavily into nature’s company this past week to help me hold my own suffering. And she has been leaning back into me. I have been relying on her and she has been relying on me. I can feel her care. And I know she can feel my love in kind return.

In any close & trusted friendship, when sorrow is shared, the bond between two people can grow and strengthen. Sorrow can bring us closer together. It can be the same with Mother Earth. I trust her with my heart, and it’s worth mentioning that I do not trust easily. I trust her with my sorrow and my joy. And because of this our kinship grows. And I am so very thankful.

The Sun & The Sauna