“Look to the stars, and from them learn.” Albert Einstein
Gazing up at the dark sky, I lose track of time as I fall into the depths of the star-lit night, drunk on its meaning.
How can we hold onto this organic sense of wonder nature offers? It is so readily right there within our grasp each moment of every day.
Why is it so hard to stay connected to what is right in front of me, rather than losing myself in so many distractions, rethinking yesterday, or being paralyzed by my fears of what may or may not happen in the future?
If only I could pause with intention more often to fully absorb what surrounds me. Oh, how I wish I could assimilate with it – Borg-like.
There are so many magical moments at the ready, waiting for me to let them unfold in front of me.
Fat snowflakes melt the instant they touch my palm, naked and outstretched. I invite them to land on me again and again.
The way the water rushes and gurgles around the rocks and fallen tree limbs in the stream as I hike along it. I pause to listen to its song.
The shape my moist breath makes when it hits the sub-zero winter air surrounding me. I watch it dissolve and evaporate in an instant.
The sun warming me up as I sit, sip my coffee, and read the paper on our deck in the morning. I feel gratitude for what I have.
“We see the world as ‘we’ are, not as “it” is because it is the “I” behind the “eye” that does the seeing.” Anais Nin
Isn’t it ironic that it’s taken me until my 60s to purposely choose to approach life with this creative, childlike wonder … fresh from a child’s eyes?
Am I a living oxymoron?
My past offers me the wisdom of experience I can rely on, yet I seek to soak in the clean slate of the present as much as I can rather than look back to my past.
Perhaps it is because I’d rather be here now than count the many moments like this I’ve let pass me by.
“Forever is composed of nows.” Emily Dickinson
This mindful approach anchors me. Having an open heart allows me to glimpse what is to come rather than get stuck in regret and fear.
Friends have told me what a “glass-half-full” person I am. One of the beta readers of my memoir recently remarked that she just couldn’t get over how positive I was given what I shared about the childhood trauma I experienced.
Despite this, lately, I’ve found it hard to find my way to the familiar place of hope. The resilience inside me that has always been there, paving my way to seeing the bright side in the past, is now clouded and unclear.
With each word, I reluctantly read on my news feed detailing the latest tragedy to befall us – even here in the US, where I grew up to believe that these things would never happen here -- my safe, solid, positive place within shapeshifts amoeba-like... so difficult to find. And when I do find it – it shifts so fast it’s impossible to touch it for very long.
And so, just as nature constantly changes, I seek certainty in her pace and patterns. The glorious sunrise after night. The promise of spring after the darkness of winter.
Paying attention allows life’s artificial chaos to melt within nature’s surefire patterns.
How can we hold onto the wonder and awe of these miracles that will evaporate in milli-seconds if we let them?
Is it as simple as feeling into and allowing the sweetness of a pause?
Can this be a way to find hope among the frightening chaos around us? A way to escape, even temporarily, the devastating increasing frequency of storms and wildfires?
Although they are a part of our natural world, I can’t help but feel their heat demanding my attention.
I find myself grasping for a place of calm as political, social, and cultural seismic shifts cause chasms I don’t know how to bridge.
Even something I deeply value – my sense of community -- has been shaken by politics driven apart by dogma I can’t abide by.
And so, I pause.
Let silence allow me to find my way back to what is right in front of me.
I allow myself the gift of sitting, mesmerized as I let snowflake after snowflake melt once again in my palm.
I find my ballast in these moments as I touch this familiar place of wonder – no matter how fleeting they are.
“Some people walk in the rain. Others just get wet.” Roger Miller
I breathe and come back. It calls me toward her. Toward the grace and natural beauty of being with what is. A genuine gift nature offers of being present.
This is a gift that I hope you, too, will take the time to open so that we can all find our way back to hope that everything is and will be alright.
Oh wow, Laurie!! What beautiful writing this is! I especially love this line and have saved it: “Paying attention allows life’s artificial chaos to melt within nature’s surefire patterns.” Such a great articulation of what I know to be true from my own daily walks: noticing the details of the natural world as I walk can help me to exit the unhelpful patterns in my head.
Oh my gosh, I really needed to read your piece today. Thanks so much, Laurie, for your insights and the images that you capture with your words. I've printed it out so that I can pop in and out of your piece through the day and remember the feel of it.