Life flows all around us, as we are surrounded by the constant motion of the living world. We have human motion, animal motion, clocks ticking, plants growing, the flow of air and water, the solidity of earth. All of reality, seen and unseen, surrounds us all the time in an epic and constant dance. We feel this especially at certain times of year, during the shifting of the seasons. Today is breezy, cool, and dry. An August day that could just as well exist in early October in New England, a day that feels like the heat of summer is swirling around the drain as it makes its way out of our year. In Spring after the long cold stillness of winter, we feel the energy of life rushing back into the land, and into ourselves. Exuberant flowers poke up through the snow, like nervous ballerinas who can’t seem to wait for their cue. And a month ago, we had days that were so hot we could barely move - the energy of summertime laid over us like a heavy quilt, the blossoming of the year in its full ripeness. These cycles of energy, of fast and slow, are a natural part of our lives here, although we can feel quite separate from them through modern convenience and the year-round workplace metronome that never changes. Meditation is one of my favorite ways to connect to the natural world, and to experience being a part of the interplay of energy. And there is no one right way to open to that connection - we might find that it needs to shift, depending on the season, and how we are feeling.
In meditation in nature, I have had the experience of being nothing. This is a scary idea sometimes, for the human mind, and perhaps an oversimplification. In spiritual practices, we often seek to be at one with Everything. To truly open, we must allow the motion of life to flow around us, and even through us. There have been times, sitting on the side of a mountain in a gentle snowfall, where my mind was able to be quiet enough that I could imagine the snowflakes falling through my body, the wind blowing through the space where my mind has been. To visualize a transparency of body and mind, as if our presence here is not separate from the flow of the earth and her mysteries, but deeply intertwined, and connected. We ourselves can become part of the backdrop if we slow down enough.
In seated meditation, I have also had the experience of being the Still Point. Clearly seeing my existence, in a meditative state, as a deep stillness surrounded by the swirling motion, passing traffic, and cheerful conversation nearby. It is deeply healing to know that we have the option to drop out of the busy pace that surrounds us whenever we can. We can choose to look at a flower petal for three minutes, as long as we have those three minutes to spare. We can sit and drink our morning coffee without distraction, only observation or quiet contemplation. We can be drawn into thought, and return to the present moment as often as we recognize that our mind has wandered, infinitely going and returning.
And in moving meditation I begin in relative stillness. By quieting my mind, I find the existing rhythm of the world, the heartbeat of the earth, and I begin to play along. On a good day, I am able to dive into the flow of the eddying energies around me, and swim like an otter into the stream of constant motion. Fast or slow, it carries my limbs about, my mind free and clear of clutter, and I experience the kind of flow that I imagine the plants and animals do: Being, rather than Doing. Becoming into clarity. This, to me, seems to be a combination of the other two experiences: softening the boundaries of Self and Other, and then allowing that softer self to play, tossed on the breezes of existence, the constant flow of life energy.
All of these practices are ways of being in relationship both to ourselves, and to the reality of the world around us. Whether we dissolve, find stillness, or enter the flow, we are exploring our ability to connect with the natural flow of life