In our busy lives, how do we create space to feel free?
Step out of the hospital for a moment and into my backyard with me. I want to share a reflection I wrote for my friends at Starcross Monastic Farm where Anu and I had the pleasure of visiting earlier in the year!
I know other people have worries, but I tend to think mine are bigger and bulkier than theirs.
Among the rotating menu are things like health, money, and my child's future, which then grows quickly into all children's future, the world they inherit and climate disaster. But in my saner moments, I realize these are fears we all share, even our minor saint, Wendell Berry. I know this because I come back to said fears often in his poem, The Peace of Wild Things:
I moved out of the city to be closer to Berry's wood drake and great heron. Here, it's ancient blue oaks that have been patiently watching over the deer and the foxes for centuries and the cultivated garden of all kinds of citrus, berries, and fruit always gifting something in every season. Right now, it's blueberries. I thought being closer to nature, I would notice these delights surrounding me, that I pined to be closer to, but instead my rhythms remain the same-- crunching through work and chores inside, and when outside, only to pick up toys and dishes, in pursuit of the next task to be completed.
This future oriented thinking cycle of fear and production locks me out of the peace of the present moment that remains always available to us, wherever we are, should we ever choose to turn towards it. When the despair overwhelms, Berry rests by the water, and I finally say to hell with it, and pick the blueberries. In this still water, I solemnly decide if I don't have 'time' to pick the blueberries at my front door as I had been telling myself, I am living my life wrong. Once among the blueberries, the fears still, peace overwhelms me. I pluck the plump purple-blue almost grape-sized berries (thank you rain!), gently avoiding harming tomorrow's harvest of green berry clusters. By no will of my own, my mind quiets and I say a silent word of thanks to the plant for offering its fruit and leaving some ripe berries behind for whoever may come picking next, two lessons that come to me from an Indigenous mother many years ago. After this first turn of gratitude, the rest tumbles out, freed from to-dos, have-tos, and strivings I lock myself up with. I rest in the grace of the berries, and for a time, I am free.
With Love,
Laura & Anu
Where do you feel free?