A thank you to the senses.
“How is the writing?” I winced slightly as Hosnieh, my friend and fan of my blogs, asked me how they were coming along today I had to admit they’ve been on a hiatus since the last one I put up here in August 2020, when I found myself camping in the Kentish countryside one night.
It was called “Talks with trees” and is about the sound made by the giant willows as the wind roared against them. The branches creaked against the force of nature that had gained in speed and severity from the pressure built over the course of a hot summers day. They swayed and stirred, taking on the full might of the elements, and directing them into a rising symphony. As I lay there in my small tent, I was reminded of the powerful divinity that lay in all things. It was a moment captured mostly by memory, and remembered partly by the soul.
“I guess I'm waiting to experience another moment like that or until our next holiday to be moved to write something new,” I offered as an excuse. “Don’t wait,” she said. “Anything can move you now if you let it.”
She was right, and even though I tried to come up with reasons that kept me from writing, they seemed to dwindle into nothingness, compared to what the senses capture in witnessing the beauty of the divine expression. I was encouraged today to act on what moves me to be a part of that creation. It’s not about waiting for:
A holiday
A perfectly-written piece
A clear mind
An uncluttered home
Wholeness
A perfect diet
Eight hours of sleep each night
The train home
Stuff that hardly matters in the Universe or the grand scheme of things
Instead, it’s the essence of being and stillness that allows the something to happen or to be created.
Nowhere is this more clear than in nature, where the senses come alive to awaken the soul.
It was on this humid and balmy Saturday that we set off for a walk in North London’s Lea Valley, fuelled with a morning coffee adding to the heat of the day. The grey clouds and dark blue skies loomed menacingly over the field from where we started as the event organisers hastily welcomed us before the heavens opened.
We started along the forest path, feeling the first drops of rain tickle our faces, cooling the body and bringing some light relief from the heat of the morning. Tall trees hovered over the path, providing a cool sanctuary and shelter from the elements as we breathed in the freshness of the morning.
Pond ducks waddled toward us seeking food, their swagger reminding us that this is their turf. We backed away and continued along the stillness of the forest path, listening to the birdsong and dodging nettles that bristled to touch.
The footpath then led us along the river, where barges lined the route, their occupants sitting out in the sun that had just returned. They read kindles and tended to their plants which grew in pots on the roof, like nurseries on water. Still with the taste of coffee in my mouth, the smell of freshly made toast filled the air with the notes of a new day. This was life unfolding.
We rounded the corner over the bridge and finished our walk, feeling relaxed and energised. While it seemed over too soon i realised the point of it not being the actual destination but how we lived it.
As we ate lunch afterwards, I knew then what I was going to write about. So with 10 minutes to spare before my catching my train home, I bought a pen and notebook from the newsagent and started to write about what I’d just been part of.
So here it is now and that’s about it. I was going to post this tomorrow, after I’d looked at it about a dozen times and edited it to perfection, but then decided not to wait.