“It may be that when we know longer know what to do , we have come to our real work and when we know longer know which way to go, we have come to our real journey”

There is a unique space created by not knowing. Sitting with it, I find, can be super uncomfortable. Sitting with the discomfort long enough can also bring us to a place of what we call Liminality. A place where the mind becomes still in the space between choices, the freedom of the unknown. The space of embracing adventure holds both the fear and the excitement of possibility.

I used to love getting lost on the Land in Maine. 300 acres is alot to explore but I knew the land just well enough to make getting lost safe.I knew the trails and the boundaries and that if I wandered far enough in any direction I would eventually come to a recognizable boundary. A marsh, a road, a pond, a dam. I knew I could climb to a point up high and get my baring’s. So wander off I would.

Reflecting on this now, as I am training to be a Forest Therapy Guide, I can see that part of what I was playing with was the part of my psyches that struggled with the concept of choice. I had the worst time making decisions. It was just a really frustrating part of my existence. And as an inquisitive kid, I also wondered about what choice really was and if it really existed and what was behind it all and what was the juice that fueled it.

So getting lost kind of made choice a constant kind of invitation. This way or that way? or a completely different way altogether. Every step held an intention, a consequence and an unknown possibility.

Last fall, I decided to explore a part of the property I had always wondered about. I was alone in the birch woods on the land. Looking down the fern field there was an entrance into the woods. Where did it lead? How far did it go? IT beckoned. But then moving towards the forest I came to a rock cliff. It looked like I might be able to scramble my way up there and what would that reveal? A beautiful fern covered rock was at the base of the ledge and this called out to me and up I went.

“The Forest is the therapist the guide opens the door. ” This was the forest informing my choice. Myself as the guide opening the door to a space intensely present that could guide me to the next way forward.

I suppose it is a complicated way of saying that existing in a headspace focused on the here and now in such a way as to still the mind enough to get to the “Knowing” without knowing it. All of the maps and the planning and the forward thinking and reflecting on the past are important for sure. But for me, the experiment of choice and how to get there was an activity the forest and I played with over and over again. I am so greatful for this relationship with the land and it’s willingness to let me through the door.

50ish years ago, I ran down the hill across the creek and up the hill to Sara’s house. I had spent a good part of the winter in the loft of our garage reading Huckleberry Finn and I wanted to talk to Sara about it. Now that it was spring, maybe we could get out and have some adventures of our own.

Arriving at her house, we immediately fell into creating all stories of adventure that our 10 year old minds could dream up. But Sara was up to homework and couldn’t’ come out to play so I set off through the field and down the steep hill to the creek. There I perched on a ledge overlooking Crum Creek as I dreamed about a life where I could live day in and day out in the out of doors and on some big adventure. Why not? I had said to Sara, why couldn’t WE build a boat and sail along down the creek or river or whatever! As long as we were OUT and not IN it was all good with me.  I longed for a life outdoors and leapt at every opportunity to spend time there, listening, sitting, making p stories in my head, talking to myself, sleeping, adventuring, or just being. I dreaded the inevitable dinner time when going IN happened and I felt as if some life force had been suddenly shut off with a switch as soon as I entered the house. I loved my family and my home. I just hated the actual physical reality of being indoors. it felt small and trapped and dull and unnatural.

Years later, on a canoeing trip with some other college freshman in the Canadian wilderness, we were asked how we were feeling about going home in a few days after 3 weeks of paddling around in lakes, camping on islands and observing the wildlife. many said they were looking forward to seeing loved ones. But then a young man said something along the lines of “I am scared. I am scared of leaving this. and he looked up at the stars. I dread going back into “it” to people and cars and activity and civilization. Here, everything makes sense. I make sense. I see my place in the world. I understand it. I feel at home and comforted by the pulsing of the wildness around me.” a few of us agreed. We couldn’t bear the idea of re entering society. Of leaving that beautiful night sky filled with stars, drinking water straight from the lake and being surrounded by that which seemed to fill us with belonging, purpose, and the fuel to imagine.

Yes. Nature has it. It has the energy we crave. And it doesn’t have to DO anything in order for us to receive it’s benefits. It doesn’t have to be recharged or plugged in. It has it all already. All it really needs mostly is to be left alone.

So I want to encourage my patients and friends and family- to take two doses of nature and call me in the morning. Take a dose of nature like it’s exercise, or medicine, or food. And when you do, take notice. Does the breath move in and out more freely? Do your cells drink in the Vibe? Can you recognize yourself as a piece of the great puzzle of the universe? Take care of the piece. It’s important.

Last night we went to hear mom sing in the Pendle Hill Choir. I love the old “Barn”  meeting room and worship space where once my 10 year old self played with friends hiding between benches while grown ups worked to make the world a better place. I remember sitting in silence at Quaker meetings there and listening to the inspirations of so many “Friends”. Sometimes Dad spoke. Sometimes mom. Even, I think, I ventured to share my thoughts a time or two. Dad sometimes sang of course. He loved to sing all the time and anywhere. But I can’t help thinking he especially loved to sing in Quaker meeting because there were those that frowned upon it. So he was making a point. Of course.

I remember bringing Dad to Pendle Hill when he first came back from Arizona. We visited some of the old places, the old beech tree, the main house, and the Barn. We walked in and dad immediately walked to the center of the benches. “The Light” was touching his face as it came through the old window nearby. “Wow” he whispered, trance like, as if held gently by the arms of time.

This night though, he wasn’t there. I thought of him in the nursing home where I had visited him earlier in the day. He was lying in bed, no doubt, and I wished I could transport him here to listen to the singing in the Barn.

There were two little girls sitting in front of us. Long brown hair, smiles and whispers, one was called on to as she raised her hand to suggest a song for the sing along. “83!” she piped up. Turning the pages we found “Christmas Morning” by Carol Bemmels and Ross Flanagan. Yes, there it is, in the Quaker hymnal. A song my Dad wrote with his 2nd wife Carol, years ago. The group stumbled through it somehow, as I am sure it is rarely sung and barely known. I wondered why this little Quaker had come to request it. The choir director did as well and asked “That is a nice song. Why did you choose that one? Not many of us know that one.” and the girl answered “I don’t know it either but my favorite number is 83! so that is why I chose it!”

Later,I thanked her later for choosing it explaining my serendipitous connection to the son. “Sometimes things happen for a reason” her mother offered with a smile.

Earlier in the day, after taking Ross out for icecream, he thanked me again and again as is his way these days. “I am So grateful. So very very grateful.” he said. THANK YOU!!” “I am grateful too dad!” And then as if trying to one up me, he says “I have been grateful to you for a LONG time.”

“And I have been grateful to YOU for a long time too.”

#Christmasgifts!

The trees pulse

Trickles of life

as Winter Exhales her final snow

shyly disguising the sexiness of spring

beneath the skin of trees flow

tales of seasonal inhales.

snow and sap flirt

year after year

an  old married couple

balance and swing

at Saturday’s dance

forget who follows and who will lead

in times unique offering

open the presents of now.