The Deer Lead The Way

At sundown I wander to Hawthorn, who I might say is my first tree teacher. Wind and rain have scattered some of her “clothes” upon the ground–lichen of all sorts. I must gather Usnea tomorrow and make some medicine!

I wander the edge of the field, following animal trails that branch off with unexpected frequency into small tunnels in the shrubs. One tunnel slashes through a hedge, and I find a pile of deer droppings (ah, the sign of the Deer 🙂 ).

So, the deer can pass through this hedge! That means I can easily do so too — or: more easily than I can flounder and crawl through a raccoon trail. I push back some vigorous Holly, and enter the edge.

In a few yards it opens to a neighbor’s yard, but I stay within the hedge. This space is its own world! I discover a pair of trees that my eyes had passed over in the “outer world” — twin Cypresses, shrouded in Holly.

This may be a lovely space to get to know Holly. I am currently journeying with the trees and plants of the Celtic Tree Ogham. I will write more regarding that journey in future posts.

Do you have a secret hideaway in a hedge or in the shrubs? Look around your yard, or in your neighborhood. Better yet, settle into a place of quiet, open heart. Ask the plants, the green spirit, or even the deer if they would be willing to help you find it. I’m certain there is a secret space amidst the plant world waiting just for you. Likely, even more than one!

When you find it, or if you have one already, please tell us about it here!

Deer and Green Man – photo by Jane Valencia.    Jewelry by ????

A Little Bird Told Me ….

In the cloud of dream this morning, an insistent chip! chip! cuts through, sifts through my sleep: Wake up, wake up!  It is the first bird of the morning, moving from near my second story bedroom window, to the side of the house, to … for all the world like a mother nudging family awake to get them ready for school.

So I get up, fox-walk downstairs (that is, I step smoothly down the wooden stairs, setting my feet down gently so that the floors don’t make a sound).   Since we homeschool, and my husband works from home–well, the downtown cafe is his office, really–no one needs to be up by a particular time, so why not let everyone sleep. I enjoy this dawn quiet, the secret of this hour.  And so I slip out into the backyard.

I settle at my Secret Spot — (or my “not-so-secret spot”, as I call it to my family, since everyone knows where it is).  My Sit Spot is a sandstone slab on the earth, with the towering incense-cedar tree to my Northwest, the pruned roses arrayed before me, and a lovely view of my little backyard.  I press my hands into the moist ground, with its intricate layers of old cedar needles and bits of leaf and twig in disintegration, returning to the earth from “whence they came”.

Twigs And Earth

What My Student Told Me …

Yesterday, as we sat out in the garden opening our senses to the natural world and to the fullness of who we are as human beings, my Reiki Level 1 student commented that a holistic practitioner he knew recommended connecting physically with the earth every day, perhaps even for as long (or as short!) as a half hour, as a way to bring oneself into balance, to reduce stress.  From my own years-long foray into nature connection and nature awareness I know this to be true.  I was both delighted and awed by how we all carry so many bits of wisdom, gleaned from our encounters with the right people at the right time, from our own seeking, and eventually we bump into the truth of what we carry again and again, so that we finally come to believe and say ‘yes’ to it.  The wisdom goes into our bones.

It was that way with my student yesterday, as he told me what his friend had said about connecting with the earth, and about how cultures have taught their people to give their anger or grief or pain to the earth and that it’s okay.  Mother Earth is not hurt by this kind of energy we give to her.  She feeds on it, composts it, and something good grows from that humus.  I nod, thinking of a succession of times I pressed my hands to the ground in the past–or even lay on the ground, begging my Mother to please take that pain away, and then feeling that shift, and knowing myself to be cradled by the earth.  The pain might still be there, but it was changed, smoothed, and soothed.  Made bearable.  And eventually I could get up, press my hands onto the earth once more, pour my love and gratitude into that ground through my hands, my feet, my whole being, and … move on.

My student spoke of actually laying down on the ground, every day.  Why not, I think now.  What would happen if I did so, each day?   Okay, let’s be realistic and gentle with myself — how about each week?  Or even just on the New Moon (which happens to be today).  Or once on a Blue Moon.  Maybe it could be for me like receiving Communion growing up as a Catholic.   Rain or shine … lay down on the earth for a time, and just be.

What might change for me, inside?  How might my sense of self twist and stretch, and my comfort zone (“but it’s muddy! There’s chicken poop!  I’ll get my hair dirty, and my clothes … and what about those worms?”)?   If I really believe that restoring our intimacy with nature can transform our culture, heal it and ourselves, then what might happen if I tried this one thing?

Chickens in the garden

Lord Firestar, Egglantine, Lady Sandstorm, and Yellow go barefoot everyday …!

A Story I Heard

I recall hearing about a girl who came from a village in Africa, where she was always barefoot, to America, where she now wears shoes.  She says that we have eyes on our feet, and that she feels that it is now as if she were blind.  She used to see through her feet.

If I lay on the ground once a week, or every few days, or every day, what might happen if I walked barefoot into the yard? This would not necessarily be so challenging–the weather is incredibly mild where I live right now.   I don’t think we’ve even had a frost yet this winter!  What might I discover if I closed my eyes (even for a second or two) as I walked, and opened the eyes of the souls of my feet?   What if I saw with my hands, drank in my surroundings through my nose, tasted the garden in the air–maybe like some kind of sense-of-taste/smell/sound/touch echolocation?  Can I do those things?  Is it possible?

I’m inside the house at my computer, asking these questions.  I’m curious about the answers, and maybe … next time I step outside … I will even try to find out the answers.  Or begin the adventure of finding out.

All of these ideas awakening, coming together, just because I listened to what a little bird told me:

Wake up, wake up! A new day dawns! The world is new and so are you!

What Will You Tell Me?

How about you?  I’d love to hear about your own ways of connecting with the earth, the natural world.   Do you connect by way of a beloved animal companion?  (“Oh my gosh, what critter is my dog chasing now?  I had no idea we had mice in our yard!”)  By way of your children and their exuberant curiosity?   (“Ulp, how high are you climbing that tree?”)  Or through your own spiritual questing and connection? (Opening to the heart opens you to the soul of the world …).  Through poetry? (Ah, those Mary Oliver poems ….!)

What bits of wisdom about connecting with earth, sea, birds, trees, the animals do you carry and live out in small and large ways in your every day — or even every once in awhile?

And the next time you hear a bird, I invite you to stop a moment and listen, and connect with what’s in your heart.  What do you think that bird is telling you,  inside?   And where might that bird be leading you?

Please share your discoveries below!

Sweet Joy by Jane

 Sweet Joy – watercolor/colored pencil art by Jane, created for Valerie

 

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