I have often said the being outside in nature is a form of spiritual practice for me. In fact, I will quite regularly choose to hike on a Sunday morning rather than attend a church. What is it about nature that speaks so profoundly to me? I could not say with certainty. I might say that I feel God in the wind blowing through the top of the trees, or that I felt the pulse of the entire world within the trunk of an old tree and get the urge to hug the tree and feel all of that beautiful life. I might also say that in the actual rhythm of walking, I experience meditative prayer on a very deep level. I no longer see anything extraneous, only my feet walking one foot in front of the other. It is unbelievably calming. Finally, I might also say that just by being outside, I feel a freedom that the actions of daily life do not allow for. Space creates a sense of freedom that no amount of constricted living can erase.
I might say all of these things, but it really boils down to the feeling that I get when I am hiking. No words can do it justice, nor would I try to assign words to the experience. The mystic Hildegard of Bingen said it best with, “I, the fiery life of divine essence, am aflame beyond the beauty of the meadows, I gleam in the waters, and I burn in the sun, moon, and stars …. I awaken everything to life.” It is an awakening on every level. A freeing of the mind to see what is, rather than what the mind believes to be true. Some assign the label of Nature Mysticism to this practice, or the seeking of spiritual awakening via nature. I hesitate to label anything. I am a party to no specific philosophy, religion or practice and as such place the same restrictions on my investigation of mysticism. I can only know and understand what communing with nature does for me. It is healing of both mind and body and nourishing for the soul. That is enough reason for me to view the time spent walking outside as sacred and I protect it as such.
As I get older, I have developed a curious dislike of constriction. I completely understand how the elderly are often trying to take off their clothes much to the chagrin of their caretakers. As soon as I arrive home from work, I am tying up my hair, taking off my shoes and bra and throwing on some loose and comfortable clothing. It is my favorite part of the day! The constriction of our busy lives can be suffocating, leaving a constant tightness of both body and spirit. We are not meant to sit in tiny offices for hours on end. Our bodies need to move to experience their full potential, feel the wind in our hair and breathe fresh air.
This is not only a metaphorical suggestion, but a matter of life or death for me. I must move every single day or face the consequences of muscle tightness and fatigue. Multiple Sclerosis is a challenging disease. The body needs movement but often fights against it, not that much different from a spiritual journey. We stubbornly live with our set ideas, fighting against what we intuitively know to be the correct path. I like to think of myself as the tops of the trees blowing in the wind, steadfast and strong yet supple and gentle. If I can live as beautifully and connected to nature as a tree, then I have done good work.
In this life, I have been blessed with two beautiful children. Now young adults, I often look back at the person I was as a very young mother (19) and how much I have changed. Without the journey of bearing and raising children, I do not think I would have had as many opportunities for growth. This is not to say that one has to have children to grown as a person. It simply is a statement that in my life, the role of mother has been instrumental in my spiritual growth.
From the very beginning, after discovering that I was pregnant, it was as if the world had issued a giant detour. I had just graduated from high school and was in my first serious relationship. I was a late social bloomer in every sense of the word. I remember clearly thinking, “How did this happen?” Sure someone could have given me the whole sperm and the egg talk, but at that moment I simply did not understand how the pieces went together. My mother was conservative with sex education, a direct consequence of her upbringing. When my sister and I got our periods, she handed both of us a book titled “What is happening to me” with drawings of how a women matures. Yup, that was it. Many things were left without the benefit of discussion. Pregnancy was the last thing on my mind. I was sure that I was going to be a dancer and had already completed my first semester of college. I had no idea that the choice I had made was life changing, career altering and one that would detoured me for two decades. I also didn’t know it then, but grace was working within me.
When I was young I wanted nothing more than to be a mother. I had written down “mother” as one of my career choices in school. I am a nurturing person and even when not asked, I end up mothering everyone. This very nature is what I believe saved my children and I. Being so young, I often made up the rules as I went. In a relationship that quickly proved to be emotionally abusive and controlling, I was hanging on for dear life. It was in those very moments of complete despair that I experienced grace. My children gave more to me than I could ever give back in return. They provided a reason to wake up the next morning along with hope, love and laughter. They allowed me room to breathe in my ever suffocating reality. Each moment spent loving them felt like such a blessing. The rest of my troubles melted away and I was whole if only for a moment.
As time passed their independent personalities started to emerge. What a surprise it is for a parent to find that your children can be so much like you, but at the same time so different. I struggled to connect with them. They no longer were the eager young children that found happiness in the smallest of things but rather, they became intensely themselves. They demonstrated an intensity of concentration to enter the adult world, taking their chance on creating a life. This was a time of much prayer for me. I simply could not understand how to parent them and prayed often for divine intervention. Why was this so hard? The push and pull of our divergent personalities was weighing heavily on me. I had given birth to these two beautiful humans, why then did I not understand how to communicate with them?
As they continued to grow, the nagging feeling of inadequacy continued to fester. Upon taking their first strides of independence and experiencing their first tastes of failure, I feared I would never have the relationship I had hoped with them. They were out in the world as they should have been, taking risks and living. There was little time for quality parental interaction and the few times we did speak were like speed dating. A quick check in, running down a list of “how are you?”, “what are you up too?” and what are you working on?” At the same time my marriage of two decades had finally come to an end and my level of trust was at its lowest point in my life. I was hurt, lonely, scared, and angry. All of which were not desirable emotions to sit with when trying to find a sense of lasting peace. Once again I prayed for guidance. I most often prayed that I could be shown how to be the parent that both of the children needed in that moment. I envisioned them with blankets of white light protecting them from the certain pitfalls of life. In those moments of prayer I felt the familiar connection as when they were in the womb and I longed for it. It gave me some peace but I still had feelings of anxiety and unrest.
After moving through a very difficult situation with one of my children, it occurred to me that maybe I had to stop trying to direct or control their happiness and let go a bit. This was another glimpse of grace in action. Even if I sensed the right way forward as an inherently flawed human, I did not always choose to follow my intuition. I desperately wanted to let go, but the resolute mother in me would not always cooperate. No amount of reading self-help books and saying affirmations out loud seemed to ease this unrest. It was as if I was simply trying too hard. This period was marked by intense indecision. Back and forth about how I should be interacting with them, feeling like I had a good handle on it one moment and then feeling completely lost and confused in the next. Sounds like the internal dialogue of a diet, right? Should I eat the cookie? Yes, I deserve the cookie. No, I should not eat the cookie. Who cares what my mind is telling me, just eat it anyway. What an intense case of whiplash.
Ultimately, it was my children, unbeknownst to them, which encouraged me to have faith. Not always spoken, but a knowing that I needed to look within myself and believe that I had done the best job I possibly could. They were going to be alright. How did they ever become so wise and full of insight? They saw me, I mean really saw me. Stripped of every possible descriptive title, I was simply the one who they have known the longest. I was connected to them from the womb, a meeting of souls in the most beautiful of ways. Maybe this is why we can be so hard on one another at times. Sometimes it is the ones that know us in the most authentic way that can dig the deepest, in both a loving and hurtful way. Letting go of all the pretense of the relationship was completely freeing. I continue to worry and say a copious amount of prayers for them, I don’t think that will ever completely cease. But in the interim, I find more moments of calm. It is such a wonderful feeling.
Mysticism has also helped me learn to listen to my children and take things at face value. I am still human and therefore challenged with this often. Some days I have more success with this than others, the point of the exercise is that I hold an awareness of the process. My children continue to teach me lessons and I hope that I am better at listening. If the Divine is in all of us, then it is certainly present in my most intimate relationships, including with my children. Each difficult interaction is a lesson waiting to be learned, internalized. I firmly believe that I am presented with the same lesson until I finally get it right. That, to me, is grace. Surrender to the divine loving of another, without actions or supplications. I am loved not only when it is easy, but when it is not. It is a goal of mine to transfer this love to every relationship that I have. It is at its core a good and honorable life work of which I am certain will take a complete lifetime to fulfill. I am stubborn, difficult and moody at times, but also gentle, loving and filled with an enormous capacity for empathy. If I can learn from grace to let go most of the time, my heart will be content in the trying.
When I moved to my first apartment after my divorce, it marked the only time in my life that I had rented a space on my own…ever. It may seem trivial to some, but this move represented a huge part of the rediscovery and redefinition of self that often accompanies a life change. A higher power was looking out for me when I found the small one bedroom apartment just a few blocks from where I had lived before. On my first tour, I meet the building manager and his wife. They lived on the first floor and had a constant stream of grandkids visiting and playing in the courtyard. I immediately felt safe. This was so very important given the circumstance of my separation which I have not shared as yet. It felt as if they had expected me and were in fact, waiting for me. In retrospect this was the Divine working directly within me in a desperate moment of need. I paid the deposit on the spot with everything that I had in my bank account and prepared for my new independence.
Shortly after settling in, I inquired with the building manager about setting up a small community library shelf. To my surprise the answer was yes! I joyfully scrapped together some change and bought an inexpensive IKEA book shelf. I soon filled it with the books that I had been hauling around for a very long time. It was like a weight had been lifting and at the same time a connection formed with my new community. Soon the neighbors started to add to the collection and some even shared with me how much the small library warmed up the building space. This is when I experienced another divine intervention. One day when organizing the shelf, I noticed a small and worn paperback. It was called Love Never Faileth. My first thought was, “yes it does fail, look at me now!” Even with that internal dialogue, I was still draw to this book. I flipped it over and read the back, and turned it back over and gazed at the cover. It absolutely called to me for reasons I did not fully understand. I borrowed the book and set it on my nightstand not opening it for yet another three months.
I do not recall the circumstances that finally lead me to pick it up and read, but once I began I could not put it down. Eknath Easwaran was a spiritual teacher that understood the universal truths of spirituality and was not afraid to blur the lines of practice. This book specifically has been a treasured addition to my war chest of inspirational books. I finally bought my own copy and have read it repeatedly. I can pick up the book at any time and open to a random page, read a few paragraphs and feel inspired. It is as if it is speaking directly to me. The language permeates my being and moves me in a deep and meaningful way.
Mr. Easwaran investigates love in the eyes of four historically prominent figures: St. Francis (my personal favorite), St Paul, Mother Teresa and St Augustine. The commonality of all four is astounding. When faced with a difficult situation, I read a few pages and most often feel the weight of my issues start to fade. In its place is a welcome reminder that we are all tasked with treating others in a loving way, especially when it is most difficult. It takes me out of my head and into my heart.
I place Eknath Easwaran firmly in the family of modern mystics. He was not afraid to cross traditional religious boundaries to demonstrate we are more alike than we are different. He also believed in the nurturing of an intimate and personal relationship with the Divine in addition to the religious practice that one might choose. It is because of him that my mantra is the prayer of St Francis (see below). I have memorized it and repeat it multiple times a day as needed. It always, without fail, brings me back to the pools of my soul. For that I am eternally grateful for the angels that lovingly introduced me to Love Never Faileth, Eknath Easwaran and St Francis.
A Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
Where there is injury pardon,
Where there is doubt, faith,
Where there is despair, hope,
Where there is darkness, light,
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console,
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Going to church this past week, I closed my eyes, lifted my face upwards and felt an instantaneous and transcendental relationship with the lord. I didn’t need to follow the words spoken by the priest in any real sense. It was not necessary to complete my experience, appreciated, but not necessary. How do I explain this? In simple terms, “I feel”. This type of understanding is not looked highly upon in many religious practices. The idea that I could have an intimate relationship without jumping through the hoops or rules of a defined practice makes people uncomfortable. The rules of religion can be a way of controlling the experience and I have no interest in that.
Each one of us is unique and that is by design. As long as I can remember, my experience has been an intimate one. Very real, but uniquely mine and outside the social norms of religious participation. Historically speaking, this is much more akin to older practices when people had tangible interactions with a higher power. This may have changed with the advent of early Christianity and the infusion of older pagan rituals in an effort to include more by way of familiarity. Now, don’t panic. I did just use the word “pagan” and some might cringe when hearing this. For me it acts as a placeholder for historical context. I do not profess to follow any specific practice and that includes paganism.
Semantics aside, what is wrong with going back to the old ways, the mystical ways? I am not saying that church is not a good way to explore faith, on the contrary. I am able to go into most churches and enjoy the community, being with other prayerful people. It feels safe and welcoming. Even when I disagree with the tenants of a particular practice, I can still gain something from attendance. I have ventured into Catholic, Baptist, Unitarian, Protestant, Lutheran, Jewish, and Buddhist communities. Each is precious in its own way, allowing a cherished space for contemplation. Mysticism is about constantly questioning and being comfortable resting in the unknown. The very concept that a particular faith has all of the answers astounds me. How can that be? I visualize religion as pieces to a much larger puzzle, the puzzle of the greater universe. We can fiddle with the pieces over a long period of time before we can fashion a complete picture at the end of this physical life.
My current practice includes a deep desire to connect with nature. Some dance or sing, others might meditate, for me it is simply walking outside, with the sun on my face, feeling utterly small but at that same time connected to something greater than myself. It is a feeling that I am able to recall at any time. I can close my eyes, visualize and am transported back to that moment. I feel warmth, love and connection while completely encircled by a protective white light. It is truly a wonderful experience.
As a child I was always this way. I was probably considered weird and different. I don’t even want to know how difficult it was for my parents. Extremely sensitive to everyone’s energy, I felt so much. I felt that connection without understanding what it was. I was not able to feel any comfort in the unknown but rather felt confusion and isolation. I developed fears of the larger world and was scared of being alone. Opening myself up to all of the energies that permeated my reality and not knowing how to process them was a tenuous road for a young girl. I became very shy and only had a few close friends. It was a lonely road. I craved the kind of intimacy one feels with a greater power and no amount of real people interactions would fill that void. I studied dance because in the moments of intense work, it was just me and the music. All of the misunderstood energies coming at me dissipated and I found calm working on the technique. I also had moments of connection moving to the music; it was transcendental and fulfilled me more than anything else.
This takes us back to the theme of coloring outside the lines. To be a great artist or thinker, one is always encouraged to think outside of the box, create and experience the art directly. Why must spirituality be thought of so differently? We are, after all, the architects of our life, of this journey, why can one be ostracized for not fitting inside the defined lines of practice? In my view this is hypocritical. It is in completely freeing ourselves from societal norms and expectations in regards to religion that true experience begins. A freedom exists that allows one to think and engage in a way that fits, rather than a forced interplay. I encourage all of you to color outside the lines of your life. It can be terrifying to move against the grain and at the same time a tad bit rebellious. Embrace the discomfort and know that the venture into the unknown is right where you should be.
I have often said the being outside in nature is a form of spiritual practice for me. In fact, I will quite regularly choose to hike on a Sunday morning rather than attend a church. What is it about nature that speaks so profoundly to me? I could not say with certainty. I might say that I feel God in the wind blowing through the top of the trees, or that I felt the pulse of the entire world within the trunk of an old tree and get the urge to hug the tree and feel all of that beautiful life. I might also say that in the actual rhythm of walking, I experience meditative prayer on a very deep level. I no longer see anything extraneous, only my feet walking one foot in front of the other. It is unbelievably calming. Finally, I might also say that just by being outside, I feel a freedom that the actions of daily life do not allow for. Space creates a sense of freedom that no amount of constricted living can erase.
