My online journal sharing interests in photography, nature, coffee life, journaling, fountain pens, bicycling, spirituality and asking deep questions.
There is such a powerful eloquence in silence. True genius is knowing when to say nothing, to allow the experience, the moment itself, to carry the message, to say what needs to be said. Words are less important, less effective than feeling. When you can sit in perfect silence with someone, you truly know how to communicate.
Richard Wagamese, Embers: One Ojibway’s Meditations
Time and again, we miss out on the great treasures in our lives because we are so restless. In our minds we are always elsewhere. We are seldom in a place where we stand and in the time that is now.
John O’Donohue
We can discover in the latter years of our life that moments of stillness and quiet can be great friends. If we embrace these friends we can experience less restlessness and spend less time caught up in our heads, a sometimes formidable neighborhood. The less time in our heads the less likely we are to miss out on some part of the journey through life. When I can stand in the now, I can receive the great treasure of a starburst.
I read the other day that God finds a thousand ways to tell us that we are sought after. In many ways I’d like to believe that. And please don’t ask me to define what God is because I can’t. All I can do is share my experiences where I have moments with a something bigger than me.
While out shooting the sunrise last week at Pineridge Natural Area I was startled by some movement at my feet. When there’s movement that close to me, I am startled because we do have rattlesnakes in the area. However, looking down, I watched this baby cottontail move closer and closer to me, seemingly a bit quizzical about me and unafraid. As I looked into those black eyes, with no words needing to be exchanged, I felt something, a connection. Was I being sought after? I went home clearly touched in some way by Nature and those gifts she offers. I’m grateful to say the God of my youth has evolved into the God I can experience today through the black eyes of a cottontail. I wonder, who sought who? Have a wonderful Monday and a great week.
I leave the chaos to enter the sanctuary of nature,
mws
aware this spiritual life is about our experiences.
I listen as the meadowlark sings from their heart,
the wind carrying their notes to all who will listen.
I learn, after the last note fades into the past,
to stay present, just as the meadowlark,
listening to the gift of silence.
I saw two extraordinary events yesterday afternoon at Pineridge Natural Area. While scanning the area with my binoculars I watched a large raptor, which I believe was a Golden Eagle, flying straight at me with a prairie dog in their talons. Golden Eagles are common in the area but this was my first sighting of one. Later, while journaling on the bench about the eagle there was an increase of chatter among the magpies just below me. I looked up from writing and see a bobcat. This was the first one I’ve seen in this area even though there are several in the area. I took no photos, just memories that remain in the present! Enjoy your weekend!
“Mystery surrounds every deep experience of the human heart: the deeper we go into the heart’s darkness or its light, the closer we get to the ultimate mystery of God.”
Parker J Palmer
I see scenes like this quite often on my walk across the CSU Oval. The back lit light of the sprinklers always grabs my attention. So, I stopped for a couple of images. I find mystery in this image because it includes the cyclist, lost in the mist, riding on the sidewalk down the center of the oval as if they were within the spray. The wind continues to blow this morning, so my hair is a mess, but we have clear skies and sunshine. I am happy to see more and more green. The semester is over, finals are done and most students have headed home. Hope you have a wonderful day.
Despite what dictionaries would have us believe, this world is still mostly undefined.
John Koenig
The wind blows from the west, it’s cold penetrating my windbreaker. A small flotilla of pelicans drifts along the reservoir’s shore. I watch the sun quietly rise above the horizon announcing the new day’s arrival. There’s a serenity over the meadow, wrapping itself around me. I hear the song of one lone meadowlark and a couple of chattering magpies who are not lost for words. Yet, I am lost for words in this experience. Expressing how nature affects us seems impossible. Truth be it’s more about the gift of experiencing it, rather than words. Yet, the poet puts words to paper in their attempt to define what they experience and see. The artist also puts brush to canvas in their attempt using visual words. Makes me wonder if the meadowlarks and magpies are just as lost for words but simply doing the best they can. Maybe it’s all about the attempts by poets, artists, magpies and dictionaries to define what can’t be defined.
Until we understand what the land is, we are at odds with everything we touch. And to come to that understanding it is necessary, even now, to leave the regions of our conquest – the cleared fields, the towns and cities, the highways – and re-enter the woods. For only there can a man encounter the silence and the darkness of his own absence. Only in this silence and darkness can he recover the sense of the world’s longevity, of its ability to thrive without him, of his inferiority to it and his dependence on it. Perhaps then, having heard that silence and seen that darkness, he will grow humble before the place and begin to take it in – to learn from it what it is.
Wendell Berry
Twenty years ago in May of 2004 I made a motorcycle trip to the Badlands for a few days of tent camping and photography. It was my first trip there and I loved it. The vistas, the rugged landscape (they call it Badlands for a good reason), the silence, the sheer beauty, all left a permanent imprint on me. I distinctly remember the experience of silence! Every once in a while I feel the pull to return and experience its presence one more time. But I also want to return because I need time away from the chaos of what Berry calls the “the regions of our conquest.” I can also say this about other places of nature I’ve experienced, including the local natural areas. I wonder if that pull is because of our one-on-one encounter with nature, the silence and the darkness? And who knows, maybe the whisper I hear is nature calling me. What will I learn when I return?