Continuous unbroken awareness of nature.

Hills of County Antrim, Northern Ireland, September 2011)
Hills of County Antrim, Northern Ireland, September 2011)

If I could gear my mind to the year’s round,

take season into season without a break,

instead of feeling my heart bound and rebound

because of the full moon or the first snowflake,

I should have gained something.

— John Hewitt, “O Country People” (Northern Ireland)

Morning mindfulness practice.

Crabapple tree-- 5.26.15, Anchorage, Ak
Crabapple tree– 5.26.15, Anchorage, Ak

One of my morning mindfulness practices is open-eyed meditation on nature.

With the magic of the morning, we can utilize our innate need for connection and ritual, to guide through the transitions of this beautifully complex world with more awareness and joy.

— Karen Prosen

Fruits of morning mindfulness practice.


Crabapple visitor-- 5.23.15, Anchorage, Ak
Crabapple visitor– 5.23.15, Anchorage, Ak

This morning I stood on the back deck for my nature meditation. I watched my breath moving through my body while listening to the songs and cries of the birds, and as I did so, a gentle rain began to fall. I felt I was being tenderly caressed by nature.

When I came inside and looked at some artwork, I noticed how the details of the work came to me with great clarity with little effort of attention applied to the task.

By bringing my subtle awareness into play with my senses available– by breathing mindfully while beholding the world with my senses– my senses had become more acute.

I went outside with the camera to take a shot of one of the crabapple blossoms, and a visitor arrived, tenderly caressing the blossom.

It is sage advice, what William Wordsworth has said:

Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.

The Tables Turned

By William Wordsworth

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you’ll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?
The sun above the mountain’s head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
Books! ’tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There’s more of wisdom in it.
And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.
She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless—
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.
One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—
We murder to dissect.
Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.


“I see that the true voice comes from stillness…”

Spring birches (5.10.15, Anchorage, Ak)
Spring birches (5.10.15, Anchorage, Ak)

I felt so still, and the flowers and green and trees seemed to be in the same state.   Yet this stillness revealed that everything is always changing—beings and relationships and the whole planet are in constant movement…

I see that the true voice comes from stillness, comes from the awareness that connects us with life.   I see that being connected in this way—inner life with outer world—is more powerful than anything I can say.

— Tracy Cochran, “The Power of Stillness”

We are one.

Rosa Parks, Selma to Montgomery Interpretive Center (3.21.15, Alabama)
Rosa Parks, Selma to Montgomery National Historic Trail  (3.21.15, Alabama)

Nothing is simple and alone. We are not separate and alone. The breathing mountains, the living stones, each blade of grass, the clouds, the rain, each star, the beasts, the birds and the inevitable spirits of the air– we are all one, indivisible. (There is) nothing that any of us does (that does not affect) us all.

— Frank Waters, The Man Who Killed the Deer

Earth keeper wisdom.

Morning moon (8:54 am, 5.11.15, Anchorage, Ak)
Morning moon and crabapple tree  (8:54 am, 5.11.15, Anchorage, Ak)

Our Aboriginal culture has taught us to be still and to wait.
We do not try to hurry things up.
We let them follow their natural course—like the seasons.
We watch the moon in each of its phases. We wait for the rain to fill our rivers and water the thirsty earth …
-Excerpts from presentation to the 2009 Parliament of the World’s Religions, Melbourne, AU

“Slowly but surely the drums that are playing in your soul will tremble loose everything that no longer honours your highest truth.”

"Afternoon meets night but the birches are white."
“Afternoon meets night but the birches are white.” (Pam McDowell Saylor)


Chaos Ripples  by  Sharona Latoue

Woman, you are too awake to play tame now.

You are expanding wildly within and your powerful ripple is causing havoc around you.
Your change has been noticed and causing distress for some.
Chaos is inevitable now you are shifting into your true being

It’s up to you: Will you choose the chaos or will the chaos choose you?
Both have the same outcome.
To drop you into BEing.
In alignment of you.

Will it be a fight for things to stay the same and draining you of your life force?
Or will it be uncomfortably surrendering into the liberating change the Universe is conspiring to create for you?

Slowly but surely the drums that are playing in your soul will tremble loose everything that no longer honours your highest truth.

You choose this path.
Walk it speaking your own voice
Radiantly dance into the night

Woman you are too awake.
Face your boundlessness and roam free.

The pulse of the earth.

Taos Mountain (4.12.15, Taos, New Mexico)
Taos Mountain (4.12.15, Taos, New Mexico)

Across the pastures came the sound of a little water drum. But beyond, the dark pine mountain throbbed deeper…  And the beat, from deep within, from the heart of the world, pulsed steadily, inaudibly, like the beat of a man’s blood. Each was the echo of the other, indivisible. But they were not quite in tune… So the man could not sleep.

— Frank Waters, The Man Who Killed the Deer