Field Note #6: Breathing Space
...paying attention to the inner knowings of nature at work in me and listening to what my body has to say
During the time I was away visiting my son and his family last week, spring blossomed here into the fullness of her green glory – and oh! Is it verdant! Even on this cool, cloudy morning it is so rich, I feel as if I’m walking through a field in Ireland.
I’m obsessed with this greening, amazed at the richness and depth of it, awed by the inner knowings of nature and her mysterious growth processes that ignite it all into being. Looking out my bedroom window as more rain comes pouring down, the grass seems to grow before my eyes. I feel a strange urge to lie down on this cool, wet mattress and let the drenched ground anchor my body to earth.
I wonder if there’s something happening in me that’s similar to what’s happening with Mother Earth as she listens to the whispers of this season, drinks in the nourishment of sun, rain, and warm breezes. I believe that as humans, we too are always Becoming. I’m learning to pay attention and nourish that in myself, to notice the invitations of my mind and spirit, but also those of my body.
While waiting for the rain to subside, I pour another half cup of coffee and settle deeper into my pillows. Opening to a new chapter of Living Resistance, I read these words from author Kaitlin Curtice.
“I’m beginning to understand that my body is a beautiful vast system of communication that I need to pay attention to.”
What is my body trying to say to me? Am I even listening?
Back in March, I started to feel something nagging at me, a kind of ache in my mind that resonated into my chest, constricting my breath. Not a physical pain, but something I felt in a deep-down way that was new to me.
I went about my days, nothing how the ache intensified when I stood at my kitchen counter and watched the photographs on the digital picture frame pass by - particularly the photos of my grandson, who appears often at random ages, sometimes a baby, a toddler, a child. A young man.
It was Connor I was aching for. I just wanted to be with him. I could see him growing up right in front of my eyes on that picture frame. I could sense time passing, and knew every year would bring less opportunity for us to be together and just “hang out” in the ways we most enjoy: playing piano duets, writing together, taking walks, playing games, reading, or talking about books.
Yet I procrastinate arranging a visit. Like most young families, mine is busy. Because I am a lifelong people pleaser, I don’t want to intrude or cause disruption. Finally, the aching becomes too much. It pokes and prods me. I ask my husband if he’ll take full care of Lacey for a few days. Of course, he says, Go. You need to see Connor. I ask my son and daughter in law. Of course, they say. Come.
So I do. And we have a glorious time. I remove thoughts of everything else from my mind and live wholly embedded in their lives, in Connor’s life, for five beautiful days. Space and time open up around me. I feel so peaceful. The chronic back and neck pain are gone. I sleep soundly all night long.
The ache disappears.
Along with memories of lovely experiences from this visit, I brought back a desire to recreate this feeling of spaciousness in my life at home. An end to the overwhelming cacophony of demand and disaster, but also to the endless loop of thoughts that surround my daily living.
Because it isn’t only the news of the world, but the very elemental ways of the world. A sense of always struggling for more, grasping for the best of everything, or even simply trying to get enough. We feel guilty for taking time to rest. We feel lazy and unproductive if we don’t work hard and play hard. Meanwhile, we’re disheartened by a constant bombardment of bad news from the four corners of the earth or from within our own small circle.
I want to use both my hands to push it all away. I want to create a wide boundary of stillness, and peace around me. I want breathing space.
As my flight home from Texas began to descend into Detroit, I turned off the TV show I’d been watching throughout the trip. I found some simple, quiet piano music on the in-flight sound system, and placed a couple of drops of Chill Infusion Oil on my wrists. I put all my belongings on the floor under the seat in front of me, and sat back, eyes closed. I spent the duration of the flight in silence, paying attention only to my breath. I let thoughts come and go, memories of the special moments I'd spent with my grandson gently moving across my mind.
In that thirty minutes of quiet I made space for myself, space where I could quietly prepare to transition into my normal daily life again. It felt amazing to my spirit. But also to my body, which I could feel soften and relax, the perpetual tension ebbing away.
I’ve always dreaded the notion of sitting quietly for any length of time without doing something. But now I hear my body urging me to stop, wait, be still. I want to heed that call, even if it’s just for a moment.
…a moment before picking up my phone.
…a moment before moving from one place to another.
…a moment before eating.
…a moment before speaking.
In this week of being home, I try to practice chosen moments of stillness like these. When I do, they slow me down just enough to let all the usual wild, prowling thoughts and fears slink off into some far corner. They offer a spaciousness that feels like deep healing but also an exciting growing edge, something new I’m learning as I listen to my body.
With the rain dwindling to sprinkles, I put on a jacket, call Lacey from her bed, and venture out into the morning. This is exactly the right thing to do at this moment, to set my feet on the ground and absorb the energy of nature coming into all her glorious beauty. I think of how I want to become acquainted will all the ways I’m also growing into beauty of body, mind, and soul, even as I age into this late season of my life on earth.
There is still spring within me. There is still beauty burgeoning. There is still greening.
Love this, so beautiful. I can feel the peace reading it.
So nice. Still plenty of greening ahead, Becca. You are a wonder. And now I think I am (mostly) caught up! :>