Sat 9:30-10:30 tonight.
Stalked to the tree, pausing now and then as I felt directed to. Animals were all quiet save for a lone spring peeper some distance off, but night seemed active nevertheless. Well-bundled, only my hands and face fully exposed to the chill of the night air, I understood that even when humans consider winter to be over, the animals, birds, insects, all creatures living without heated homes still face the rawness that lingers in the night.
Approaching the tree, I knew I was already just waiting for the sit to be over so I could go inside and go to bed. My absence of awareness was clear to me when I recognized that I was viewing the tree two-dimensionally; I was only seeing the bare minimum of what there was to be seen. The majesty, depth, energy of the tree were completely obscured by my drive to be elsewhere, and all I was left with was the flat visual appearance of the tree - bark, needles, trunks - none of its character or strength.
This, I realized, is how I live so much of my days. Always on the quest to be someplace and some time other than when and where I am, waiting to finish work or finish cleaning the kitchen or finish making that phone call or finishing this or this or this, with the list always replenishing itself and me never attaining that illusory state of completion, when I can just rest and be. And so my relationships suffer, my every interaction suffers when I am not present, because I only behold portions of the people I'm around; their fullness and beauty are unavailable to me.
Tonight, facing my seemingly permanent state of sleep, I realized I should work on awakening my senses. And in the moment when I felt the cool, moist air moving across my face, saw the darkness all around me, heard the quiet night sounds, I was instantly in touch with the being of the tree. It can be a great struggle to open awareness up, but once called on, awareness opens paths for us to sense more than just sight, sound, etc. The senses, when awoken, share so much more of the world with us.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
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