One Note In The Song

This week I swam in beautiful clear waters of Kejimkujik Lake in Mi’kma’ki (Nova Scotia). I was the only person on the beach two mornings in a row, the rising sun on my face and sparkling on the water, my eyes taking in water, shore, trees and sky. At night I gazed up 60 feet through the screen windows on my tent to the canopy of the hemlocks and white pine above and glimpses of stars.

So much of our work healing trauma is coming back into connection, with ourselves, with others, and with Mother Earth. With our breath. With floating and being held in safe waters. The experience is richer when we are also in our body, in the moment, and not lost in thoughts of other times and places.

So much has been written about being in nature, some of which is lovely and evocative. We can invite memories and recall experiences. Yet we have this delicate balance of awareness of the experience and the experience itself. When I was floating in the lake Wednesday morning, aware of the rising sun and silkiness of the water and the half moon high in the bright morning sky, I also reminded myself to let go of describing the experience and go into the experience without the commentary.

Our mind slows and we connect with the elements around us - the soles of our feet and the ground, sweet forest air in our nostrils, bird song instead of car sounds, the silky coolness of water on skin. Trees (The Standing Ones) each have their own story, their own pulse and experience with the sun on their leaves and photosynthesis and sap and life force. Both mornings the crows were noisily commenting on something in the forest clearing nearby. A seagull flowed by overhead. We each have our own experience. AND we are each one note in a song.

Somehow this is so much easier to remember floating on my back in the lake than driving home or sitting at my keyboard, so I’ll leave it here for now.