Sacred Nature
A Reflection by Shannon Dahlstedt
Sacred Nature
Last winter, I signed up for a snowshoeing excursion in Western Canada, a country I had never visited. Snow covered the ground, but that day, it drizzled cold, soaking rain, and I naively wore jeans, believing the weather report promising the rain would stop. The snowshoes were easy to learn, and hemlock cedars and Douglas firs lined the beautiful path, along with many other living plants and fungi that our guide identified. Alone among strangers from all over the world, we gathered in a small, old train caboose with a wood stove to warm ourselves with tea and cookies afterward. A puppy ran from person to person, sparking a spontaneous group conversation. This connection point with strangers was as rewarding as the walk in the woods itself; no one checked their phones, and as we thawed, we realized that everyone had been drawn together that day by a desire to experience the wild, natural world.
Civilization
I feel comfortable in the modern, civilized world surrounded by technology, heating and air conditioning, cars, and grocery stores. It is possible to spend days, weeks, months, or even a lifetime living in the grid of our human creation without ever stepping into the wild. Like many, I plan for the future. I work and occupy a mental world of ideas and projects. This habitual lifestyle keeps me focused on the future instead of what is right in front of me.
Humans are clever creatures, really good at the executive functions of setting and attaining goals. In a world of schedules and calendars, tasks and reminders, the pressure of others’ expectations, responsibilities, and commitments keeps us on what feels like a hamster wheel. The phone in my back pocket keeps me constantly attached to this human civilization and assists me in successfully navigating it. Does any of this sound familiar?
Presence
How many consecutive days have you spent living in a human-made world without reconnecting with your first mother, Earth? Do not judge your answer; just notice. It does not take many days for me to feel the effects of civilization if I have not gone outside to regenerate. It feels like cabin fever; like I am a trapped animal.
Pausing to step into nature, to inhale the air of right now, to hear the birds singing nearby, to experience whatever the weather brings at the present moment centers you in place and time. Walking or sitting outside in a natural environment gives your soul respite. To truly see, you must change your perspective, check out other angles, and set aside your plans and ambitions in order to remember what is. In other words, stop the usual routine, let go of your agenda, and listen. If you constantly live in output mode, how can you hear the quiet voice of the Sacred? Disengaging from civilization, from technology, from other’s demands allows a shift to occur, to grant insight, to hear that quiet, Holy voice who always whispers.
Notice the air on your skin. The feeling of inhaling and exhaling without talking. Without texting. Or emailing. What do you smell? Dirt, rain, flowers, cooking food, salt, smoke. . . what aromas mingle outside your door? Pause here and breathe. Relax.
If you find yourself mentally planning your trip to the grocery store, gently stop. Politely tell the mental chatter that you will attend to it later. Refocus your attention on the present moment of time and space. Sit quietly and inefficiently, enjoying your act of resistance toward your task list. This is your true home. The world outside is the home God made for you and for us all. Pay attention to the gifts surrounding you right now.
Attention is the beginning of Presence.
Presence leads to reverence.
A Season of Rebirth
This spring, breathe in the new blooms and stretch the winter from your bones. Species by species, the trees bud and leaf according to their ancient blueprints. The bees again have their work of pollination before them. Local farmers sell their produce at farm stands or farmer’s markets, where you will see neighbors as you gather fresh ingredients. Parks fill with people tired of the indoors and longing to touch something alive.
Can you touch the ground where you are with bare feet and hands? Touch a living being, like the leaves of a tree or a blade of grass. What does it feel like? How does it smell? Is it breathing? Pay close attention to your surroundings. Quiet your mind and use your senses to see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. Experience your Source and know that you belong. Revere this world of sunshine and rain, trees, animals, oceans, and wind. Return to this home—YOUR home—frequently, and give thanks for the natural world, a manifestation of the Divine.
Morning in a New Land
by Mary Oliver
In trees still dripping night some nameless birds
Woke, shook out their arrowy wings, and sang,
Slowly, like finches sifting through a dream.
The pink sun fell, like glass, into the fields.
Two chestnuts, and a dapple gray,
Their shoulders wet with light, their dark hair streaming,
Climbed the hill. The last mist fell away,
And under the trees, beyond time’s brittle drift,
I stood like Adam in his lonely garden
On this first morning, shaken out of sleep,
Rubbing his eyes, listening, parting the leaves,
Like tissue on some vast, incredible gift.
Mary Oliver: Devotions (New York, NY: Penguin Press: 2017)
Listen to this reflection on YouTube.
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Share in a Sacred Circle
The second full week of the month, we offer three drop-in Sacred Circles on Zoom and two in person. It is a chance to share the monthly reflection in a safe and welcoming environment. You never have to share more than you want to share. Look for an invitation with the Zoom link on the Monday of the week’s sessions. Learn more here.
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How do you experience God in nature?