Let us look to Nature for guidance as our code book for everything we need to know or to understand. Gregge Tiffen (Tax Time: Are You Taxing Yourself? – April, 2007)
I saw my first meadowlark of the season (a Western Meadowlark for those birders among you) on April 1st (no joke!) and heard its song the following morning, a snowy one, on a hike to the Ziggurat. The cheerful song accompanied beautiful views in all directions: the Great Sand Dunes and Blanca Peak to the south, San Juan Mountains to the west, the Collegiate Peaks to the north, and, our home, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains to the east. The beautiful, vast San Luis Valley floor surrounded us on three sides. Ah, nature.
This vastness is in contrast to the woods that surround us here at the Dragonfly House. Except for a few glimpses of Crestone and Kit Carson Peaks, there’s little indication of the vastness to be seen a short walk away. Here I see each tree, up close and personal. I see the unique form each has taken on its journey of life. I see how shape is formed by how much light, space and moisture are available and by storms that have broken or redirected limbs. I can gaze with contentment on a tree for a very long time, imagining its stories.
Nature speaks deeply and wisely. I wonder how deeply and wisely I’m listening. Meadowlark reminds me to let the journey inward be a cheerful one (Ted Andrews – Animal Speak). Much like me, meadowlark lives and stays close to the ground, home, the self. I’m reminded to not stray too far from that which is my responsibility.
Nature reminds me that in life there is no purpose for complaint, for blame, for competition or comparison. These distractions are created by man. They separate us from our true nature and from nature herself.
I smile knowing that in my humanness I engage in such acts, even though I know that they contribute nothing to my growth or to happiness and joy. They hold no beauty, harmony or love. The smile acknowledges nature’s wisdom so much deeper than my own. In nature I see acceptance, cooperation, and the unfolding of its blueprint as each seed falls on fertile ground. Nature has much to teach me.
Again, I wonder how deeply and wisely I’m listening.
Before my walk this crisp, clear morning, that was the last sentence of this week’s post. But nature held a different plan. She gently reminded me of another attribute: there is no death, no end. Snow melts or evaporates. That’s a simple change of form. A tree ceases to add new growth and slowly rots, providing housing for many creatures before it crumbles and returns into soil.
And, so it is with you and with me. At some point the body ceases to function, and it changes form. Consciousness, the soul, moves onward as well, just as it has for eons of time, if only we remembered just how long our true journey has been.