Some 15 years ago, a woman encouraged me "get behind your eyeballs." I thought this a funny phrase. I spent much of my time spinning thoughts of past and future in my mind and found it challenging, if not impossible, to simply be in the present moment, so this phrase was aptly directed towards me.
I've since had extensive opportunity to be present with myself and with my body - not in a way of my choosing - however, what we most need often comes in unexpected packages. Life had been waiting for me to come into myself, to listen with my whole being, to pay attention - to get behind my eyeballs. My experience is certainly more rich and vibrant with this refined perspective.
Though the circumstances that helped me to understand this funny expression were uncomfortable, the teaching was invaluable. Being truly present takes a willingness to slow down, to hold a patient heart, to breath, to feel. When I take the time to show up in this way - to truly become present - all types of synchronicities occur, doors open and the beauty I imagine is right here where I am.
[Daisies at Sunrise photo by Anne Heck]
Get Behind Your Eyes
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Touchstone
My childhood home had a pair of beautiful sugar maples in the side yard. When I became old enough to climb trees, my father hung a rope ladder from one of the maples; this gave me easy access to the interior haven of its branches.
As a young girl, I played here often. I claimed a special spot - my legs perfectly straddling a hefty limb, my back resting against the trunk. I called this my comfy seat. In the spring, I enjoyed the bright greens popping from tips of branches. In summer, I was abundantly camouflaged in a sea of green; in fall, I sat in a swirl of crispy color; and when weather turned cold and branches dropped their leaves, I sat exposed - the rush of cool wind rustling the bare maple limbs around me.
Over a number of years, I developed a deep connection with my comfy seat and when life was difficult, I sought refuge here to reconnect with a more pure sense of self, to be reminded of simplicity and ease.
Eventually, my family moved from that home. In times of need, I would imagine myself climbing that rope ladder, swinging my leg across the rough bark and leaning into the comfort I knew was always available to me. Several years ago, I visited my childhood home. I walked to the side yard to greet my maple friend and noticed she still wore a ring of chain around the branch that had held our rope ladder. I was surprised and pleased to know she held this visible way of connecting closely with her.
It’s important for us to have touchstones - places or experiences that assist us in finding our center and knowing inner peace. I've developed numerous touchstones along my journey - sitting in ceremony with sisters who see and know me in my truest sense, the still silence of morning meditation, the warming hugs of those who love me most, the feel of wind on my face, grass beneath my bare feet and the song of wood thrush at dawn. Envisioning these experiences grounds me and helps me remember who I am.
We all experience hard times which call for connecting into our place of comfort. When circumstances are challenging for me, I shed my tears of grief or pain; then I close my eyes and climb the rope ladder to my comfy seat. Though the maple branches are often bare and the wind chilly, I snuggle up against that hearty trunk and know all is well. I hold deep gratitude for our ability to vision, to feel and to connect with those touchstones that provide support and strength in our times of need. ~ A special thanks to my beloved sugar maple.
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Treasures from the Trail
I hike daily in the forest near my home and get to experience nature up close. I often carry my camera to capture the beauty, the changes of seasons ~ and an occasional surprise.
One morning I had the good fortune to glimpse the morning sun through the red crest of a pileated woodpecker perched on a tall oak. I’ve encountered bear cubs (not taken lightly) and once spied a young buck, its antlers fuzzy and steaming in the morning light. Each day I find the forest and earth gift me with color and form filled with beauty and intrigue.
In this season of new beginnings, I’m seeing seedlings pushing through the soil, moist leaves unfolding in bright green colors, wildflowers blossoming and creeks rushing with spring rain.
In addition to great bonding time with my pup, these walks are, for me, both meditative and grounding. Nature inspires me to look closely, to learn and to be curious. Observing the beauty around me fosters greater appreciation of life, of miracles and of the importance and place for each being within the whole.
This intimate relationship with nature has also strengthened my intuitive sense. As I greet the trees, the earth, the stones and waters I’m touched by the warmth and simple yet profound teachings they offer in return.
Nature's beauty and teachings are likely not far away for you. If you haven’t been out in the woods in some time, I encourage you to make opportunity to touch into this place of wonder. I’m certain you’ll come away feeling better for it.
If you're interested in viewing photographs like those seen here, I post these Treasures from the Trail on Facebook almost daily. Feel free to friend me if this is something you enjoy.
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What Calls
I hike most mornings with my four-legged Szoke. We wind in and around the trails in Pisgah National Forest which is just a stone’s throw from our home. Most days we explore the paths near the creek and rarely venture towards the ridge. There are plenty of treasures to discover on the familiar lower trails and I don’t often look beyond them.
This past week, I decided to take a new trail ~ one I had spied several weeks ago and expected to require some time to explore. So I picked a morning without commitments, packed my pockets full of biscuits for Szoke and headed a new direction.
It snowed lightly during the night and the ground was dusted with white as I ascended. My new trail hugged the concave side of a mountain and I felt held in a beautiful bowl of trees sugared with snow. Surprisingly, the gentle trail seemed to disappear a good way up the slope and though I could have turned back, the peak called me.
It was not an easy climb. The steepness required me to walk on the edge of my hiking boots and grab tiny saplings to pull myself higher. At some point, the snow thickened and the winds became stronger. I considered turning towards a roadbed some distance below the ridge, but the descent was equally steep; heading there would likely mean heading home. And the peak called me.
After navigating a large patch of brambles and several downed oaks, I reached the summit. The snow stuck to the sides of trees, to the vines that twirled round them and to my nose. As I clamored over a mighty oak, I spied the tiny prints of a field mouse along its long reclining trunk.
I marveled at the ridge ahead cloaked in snow and gray, curious about what I may discover there. Like the field mouse that explored the ridge of the old oak, I found myself sniffing into the unknown, curious and ready to explore.
I wondered silently what called me there. But as quickly as I wondered, I knew that I was there not for the peak itself, but for the treasures that I discovered along the way - the ones that are always found when I explore, when I’m curious, when I’m open. I blessed the field mouse and the oaks, the steep mountainside, the tiny saplings, the blowing snow and the twisting vines and brambles. And I blessed the peak for calling me.
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