I'm a firm believer in the Force, that mysterious power that existed "A Long Time Ago in a Galaxy Far, Far Away." Ben Obi-Wan Kenobi described the Force to young Luke Skywalker in the original Star Wars trilogy. "The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together."
Since the galaxy is still together, I figure that the Force is hovering around doing his (or her) Forceful things, pretty much staying in the background. However, when circumstances converge (coincidences some might call them), which appear to be imparting wisdom, I pay attention. Such as occurred this week. . .
Episode #1: Most mornings, at 6:30, I fast-walk through the park across the street. Forty minutes of exercise along tree-lined paths, around the perimeter of two glassy lakes -- fresh air, sunshine, flowers, birds, ducks -- Nature at her most peaceful. Calming, centering. Yet, recently thoughts of packing, moving, transitioning, farewells, social engagements and school functions have been jockeying for top positions on my mental "To Do" list, followed by a waiting list of worrisome wanna-bes. I've entered and exited the park before the beauty of the day has had a chance to catch up with me.
Until Saturday. Whizzing through a generic overgrowth of green ground cover, I suddenly smelled freshness.
Not sweet exactly. Not mint, fruit, wood. Not any fragrance I could identify. I stopped, retraced my footsteps, smelled the air with the quick inhalings of a detective on the trail of a mystery. But the fragrance - or had it been a feeling, a nostalgia inviting me to reminisce - had disappeared. Back at home, I turned to the day's reflection in Meditations of Henry David Thoreau, A Light in the Woods, by Chris Highland.
#51, "Sweet Smell of the Earth" - Thoreau's first sentence hit me with the force (pardon the pun) of a kindred spirit. "I perceive from time to time in the spring and have long kept a record of it, an indescribably sweet fragrance, which I cannot trace to any particular source. It is, perchance, that sweet scent of the earth of which the ancients speak."
Episode #2: Same park, same exercise route, different morning.
Monday. I was in and out of the park in the predictable 40 minutes, registering but failing to absorb Nature's morning messages. Hurrying through my bowl of cereal, cup of tea and forgetting Henry David altogether, I opened my computer to check email. Mary, a friend in Idaho, who frequently joined me for walks in the park when she was a teacher at AAS, sent a poem written by another Mary, whom we both admire.
Trees. When had I last spent time with my favorite trees in the park, the ones that remind me of Gothic arches in a medieval cathedral?
When was the last time I "walk[ed] slowly and "bow[ed] often?". . . let the "sweet smell of the earth speak to me?"
The Force, capable of whopping me over the head with one of those favorite branches, had instead combined energy from his field of living things (in Thoreau's case, living words) to connect with me.
Episode #3 - Today (Friday). "On a stump I sit. Trees I watch. A deep breath I take." -- as Master Yoda might say.
Since the galaxy is still together, I figure that the Force is hovering around doing his (or her) Forceful things, pretty much staying in the background. However, when circumstances converge (coincidences some might call them), which appear to be imparting wisdom, I pay attention. Such as occurred this week. . .
Episode #1: Most mornings, at 6:30, I fast-walk through the park across the street. Forty minutes of exercise along tree-lined paths, around the perimeter of two glassy lakes -- fresh air, sunshine, flowers, birds, ducks -- Nature at her most peaceful. Calming, centering. Yet, recently thoughts of packing, moving, transitioning, farewells, social engagements and school functions have been jockeying for top positions on my mental "To Do" list, followed by a waiting list of worrisome wanna-bes. I've entered and exited the park before the beauty of the day has had a chance to catch up with me.
Until Saturday. Whizzing through a generic overgrowth of green ground cover, I suddenly smelled freshness.
#51, "Sweet Smell of the Earth" - Thoreau's first sentence hit me with the force (pardon the pun) of a kindred spirit. "I perceive from time to time in the spring and have long kept a record of it, an indescribably sweet fragrance, which I cannot trace to any particular source. It is, perchance, that sweet scent of the earth of which the ancients speak."
Episode #2: Same park, same exercise route, different morning.
Monday. I was in and out of the park in the predictable 40 minutes, registering but failing to absorb Nature's morning messages. Hurrying through my bowl of cereal, cup of tea and forgetting Henry David altogether, I opened my computer to check email. Mary, a friend in Idaho, who frequently joined me for walks in the park when she was a teacher at AAS, sent a poem written by another Mary, whom we both admire.
When I Am Among The Trees
Mary Oliver
When I am among the trees,
Especially the willow and the honey locust
Equally the beech, the oaks and pines,
They give off such hints of gladness
I would almost say they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
In which I have goodness, and discernment,
And never hurry through the world
But walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
And call out, "Stay awhile."
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, "It's simple" they say,
"and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine."Trees. When had I last spent time with my favorite trees in the park, the ones that remind me of Gothic arches in a medieval cathedral?
When was the last time I "walk[ed] slowly and "bow[ed] often?". . . let the "sweet smell of the earth speak to me?"
The Force, capable of whopping me over the head with one of those favorite branches, had instead combined energy from his field of living things (in Thoreau's case, living words) to connect with me.
Episode #3 - Today (Friday). "On a stump I sit. Trees I watch. A deep breath I take." -- as Master Yoda might say.
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