InnerPoetry.com

I love to read and though I read a lot of non-fiction, the truth is I LOVE novels, stories that reach out and draw me in, pull me into their arms and carry me to some other shore, into the hearts and lives of people who all seem to hold pieces of me within them. And my very favorite books are those that create a deep sense of place…that connect their characters in some visceral way to the land and space they inhabit. For me, it is those that write of the sea, for I know in my own Florida bred bones the very voice of water.What in this world awakens your senses?

Stories. We all have them. Our lives are one. Many really. Chapters connecting one to the other, building upon themselves in the growing and becoming of who we are. While hiking this past weekend, my 3 year old son (quite a storyteller in his own right), in response to my comment about how beautiful the view and land were, said that “God is writing a story.” And so it is.

And as each of us knows from high school English, a story consists of a few key elements - characters, plot, climax, theme and setting. Our lives too contain these elements. Whether we know it or not, claim it or not, we are the heroes and heroines of our own stories. We drive the plot that is our life, create and weather through the ups and downs. And live within the context of our settings. I feel perhaps that I will speak of each of these over time. Today though, I focus on setting…on creating and holding a sense of place in our lives.

What does it mean to hold a sense of place…? I imagine it as deeply inhabiting our skin, awakening to the sensual interplay between body, environment and inner experience. At its very best all meld into what feels like the snuggling in of spirit and skin, the tickling of memory that cannot quite be captured, something ancient, something of Home.

What do you feel, sense, imagine when you hear the phrase… “a sense of place” ? What creates the experience for you? What is the experience?

I have lived in three states, each drawing me in differently. On the coast of Florida as a child and adolescent I knew myself made of the sea. The smell of salt and sun, fish and seaweed…the feel of limbs moving beneath dark waters, sunlight flashing and rolling over waves…the sense of power and wisdom, the promise of mysteries large and deep waiting to be explored. Whenever life overwhelmed, saddened or frightened me, whenever I felt lost, alone or without answers…I sought out the ocean. It filled me, spoke to me, healed me with its beauty and eternal presence. It held something of me and offered it graciously with open arms whenever I needed.

What is the land of your childhood…your youth? How does it speak to you? What gives you strength or helps you remember who you are?

In my thirties I moved to Tennessee, quite a distance from my sun-drenched youth. But, as is always the case, Life…God…knew what I needed. A grounding and the experience of winter. Big open skies that dropped upon me and hills that rose and dipped, hills rooted deeply in the earth. And trees that lost their leaves…that gave all they had in return for the blooming that would come. Winters cold and white, raw and real, that lifted up and exposed everything without fear or mistrust. Yes, a trust in the cycles of all things, in the birth that follows every death, in the beauty hidden and always revealed. I remember standing in a thicket of trees my first winter, standing there, wanting to get closer, knowing for the first time, feeling it in the vast inner expanse found beyond blood and bone, in the core of my being, what it was to surrender, and what it felt like to be embraced by Love larger than myself. These gifts the fertile land of Tennessee gave me.

Reflect on the cycles of nature…do you see them in your own life? Feel them in your own being?

Now, in the great mountains of Colorado I seek the wisdom I know every inch of land has to share. The Rocky Mountains reach toward the sky above, dramatic in their strength, watching over the land as they have for millions of years. There is no boundary here, no way not to grow. Inner meets and outer and all stretches wide and tall, as far as the eye can see. Looking up, listening closely, the voice swirling down on the wind laughs at all impossibility.

What qualities do you imagine for the sky? Water? Mountain? Other landscapes? How do you connect to these qualities within yourself?

There is a fourth state…one in which I have not lived, but that has owned a part of me since my first visit. One that jogged those forgotten and still lost memories more than any other. Maine…along the coast where mountain and ocean meet, where the two lands I have known and loved become one. If the soul has a place it calls home upon the earth, a place it is ever drawn to, for me it is Maine.

Where do you feel your soul most intensely present?

A sense of place…to find it I draw breath and dip into the connection that lives between my singular being and the whole of what is. I find this most intensely in the simplest of moments…the drifting scent of pine along a mountain trail, that of a fire burning before me while I sit curled on a couch sipping hot tea, the vision of sailing masts dotting a harbor, a dock reeking of things old and dead, a good warm meal made rich by the sound of laughter, a sweet memory, a wildflower given by a small and desperately beautiful hand that reaches for mine. In these instants I am touched by all that is Divine. Beauty revealed and experienced. Love breathed out and made form.

Take a moment and reflect on the small moments of grace you have known. Become aware throughout your days of these offerings.

I have gone on long now, trying to share my understanding of a sense of place. All with the hope of dropping you into your own. Stop for a moment and be where you are. Open your senses, open your heart…let them dance and intertwine. What is seen, heard, smelled, felt, touched? What arises from your belly in the small moments of awareness? Open yourself and let life sink in…Open yourself and let life flow out. Where the two meet, wonder awaits.

I had a dream last night. Of course there was much I don’t remember, or can’t quite piece together, but the part that stayed with me until morning demanded further examination.

I am standing at sliding glass doors at the back of a house when a flicker of movement catches my eye. I look up and become aware of a large hawk perched just above me. There is a squirrel sitting next to it on a long tree branch that is somehow sticking out from the house. My first thought is that the hawk is going to eat the squirrel and is just waiting to attack. Suddenly a second hawk appears on the other side of the squirrel. And then, as I watch, the hawks take the small animal, each by a little front arm, and begin flying away from the house, the squirrel scampering down the tree branch as though on the plank of a pirate ship. When they reach the end of the branch the three of them move into the air, the hawks carrying the squirrel. I am besieged with sorrow, my heart hurting for the squirrel who I am convinced is being taken to some hawk den to become dinner. I feel the squirrel’s fear and helplessness. I am telling someone else this and they say…don’t associate with the squirrel, but with the hawk - the power and the strength. But somehow, I just can’t. And there, the dream ends.

I wake and of course wonder what this dream could possibly mean. I go through some immediate translations, well, mostly one: I am the small and helpless squirrel, about to get eaten, which, I admit, is a bit unnerving. I keep trying instead to place myself within the power of the hawk, but it eludes me. After some time spent meditating and just staring out the back windows of my home, some other thoughts emerge.

I have always been fascinated by dreams, have kept dream journals and often find myself mulling over what my psyche may be grappling with or telling me through its night wanderings. The symbolism of animals and birds is another whole study, and because they frequent my dreams, the two studies have naturally melded on occasion. So, as I sat rolling this one around in my head, here is what arose:

Squirrels are busy little creatures, always in motion, always active - finessed at the art of preparation. They also love to play, chasing each other up and down trees. Their activity is purposeful when working and delightful when playing - they are, dare I say, balanced creatures, though a bit frenetic at times. Now, hawks…hawks it has been said are the “visionaries of the air,” like Mercury, messengers of the Gods. So here we have squirrels, grounded in the work of the world, and hawks, carrying  the breath of Heaven on their wings. And what is happening? The hawks are lifting the squirrel into the air…to eat him?

Or perhaps, to teach him to soar?

Our lives are busy. It’s a fact. Filled with activity of one kind or another, doing the leg work of the world. We keep rhythm with today and plan for the future. Sometimes, seamlessly, and sometimes just trying to keep all the balls in the air. And then, there are periods when we live in the opposite domain - caught in a net of stagnation, when we sense the need for movement but cannot find its catalyst. Wherever we are the stirrings can find us - embedded in busyness or running beneath still waters - those that whisper of our longings and desires for action that is more purposeful and true and maybe a little more fun, and rest that is deep and restorative.  For activity that is lifted up and touched by something higher…a yearning to be carried on the wings of that which knows who we are and who we are in the process of becoming.

Is it all in our control…this process of becoming? This ability to lift up our intentions and our actions, opening to a higher level, one that deeply and truly expresses who we are and what we are designed to give and share? My answer…no. We are in control of the legwork - of our learning and our willingness to grow and participate in the process…to open our minds and hearts…to run on that branch and jump into the air, trusting we will be met, and that we will be taught to soar.

How exactly do we do our part? Where do we begin? We observe the world around and within us, we tend the garden of our souls with silence, with laughter, with compassion, forgiveness and love. We tend our lives and others with the same. We remember that it’s all practice, not perfection. We get up each day and do the best we can, understanding that “best” is not an absolute. Bit by bit we meet our shadow and learn its’ wisdom. We create relationship with our understanding of that which transcends - with God, the Universe, the Absolute, our own Highest Nature. We show up. And we keep showing up.

And what is it that we don’t control? What I think of as the alchemical process of transformation. That which happens in the underbelly of our being. We don’t control the wings that lift us up, though we can open our arms and stretch ourselves to the sky. Each step we take to more deeply trust this process, the more we are given to see…and the more we see, the more deeply we are asked to surrender. Like the squirrel…to leap, to trust, to soar.

So much from one little dream? Who knows what the squirrels and hawks were doing in the night…but what is to be gained is found in the awareness allowed. I encourage you…observe, listen, play with your dreams, let them be your teachers and your guides. You might be amazed at what you discover.

And if the hawks visit in the night…go flying. Leap. Trust. Soar. Live.

Namaste.