Some days, it seems like I want to do anything but “work” at my creative projects. Today is a good example.
This morning, temperate breezes and the clear, luminous light of the early sun lured me outdoors for a long walk There was a holy quiet on the wooded trails weaving through the acres surrounding my northern West Virginia home. I can hardly believe my husband and I have been given the stewardship of this beautiful. mountain land. I find myself promising some being or force much larger than myself that I will walk lightly and with awe on this ground, never disturbing anything needlessly.
I was entranced by the symphony of sweet bird calls against the backdrop of a babbling creek—we call it a “run” here—that ambles lazily through the woods. I love nature, but have not made a study of it. I found myself wishing I could name the huge trees whose leaves, dappled by the sun, form a natural Sistine Chapel overhead.
As I walked, I decided not to think about anything. Whenever my thoughts began to take on a life of their own, I would release my attachment to them and, instead, be present to the ferns on the forest floor. I sat for a good while on the simple, rough-hewn bridge the former owner of this property built over the creek and I was grateful for his handiwork.
After my walk, it was just too tempting to stay outdoors—so I weeded several of the flower beds surrounded by shale stone hand picked from the property—also the handiwork of the former owners. I planted the flower boxes on the porch with fuscia New Guinea Impatiens and Vinca vine and was satisfied with the beautiful outcome. The deep greens of the Impatiens foliage and the bright, soft green of the Vinca are pretty together against the magenta and purple hues of the flowers. I admired the way the colors complement the hues of the Fuscia my husband bought me for Mother’s Day. I plan to buy some bright yellow Marigolds for the sunnier flower beds. They’ll be practical because the deer won’t eat them.
I finished my outdoor time off with a few delicious moments spent eating a peanut butter sandwhich, chased with chocolate soy milk, while sitting on the swing on my screened porch. I was mesmerized watching pollen dance on the rays of the sun filtering through the screens.
Somehow being absorbed in walking, dreaming, brook-watching, weeding and planting quieted my mind. As I return to my creative projects, I find that the words are coming easily, clearly—and they feel right. They come from a different, deeper effortless place—no force required to bring them to the surface. It’s like I’ve tapped into a tributary of an underground river whose waters are fresh and clean.
It’s often so hard for me and for my coaching clients to rationally justify taking time for reverie and quieting—a wonderful spiritual practice. We can justify—sometimes—taking time for exercise, for nourishing our bodies. But, when we have so many things to do and places to go, connecting with our deeper spiritual natures is often seen as a frivolous waste of time. Almost all my coaching and psychotherapy clients seem to have trouble making and keeping their promises to find and cultivate meditative time. Why is that so hard?
We just forget that a quieter, refreshed mind, a stirred heart and a nourished soul make all of life—including our creative work—flow so much more gently and easily.
I remembered that this morning. I’m grateful for the spirit that called me outside and inside.
Posted by Linda Sandel Pettit on 06/01 at 02:47 PM in |
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