Earth Bliss

Have you ever noticed how green the plants appear in fog or under dark clouds? The greens seem to pop. I love the contrast of green and grey. Not only was it my first impression of England (back in 1981, when breaking through the clouds during our landing descent into Heathrow) but grey really does cause everything else to brighten. Like the soft pink sprinkles of a weeping cherry tree in our backyard. These trees are just breathtaking when they are big, old, and full! Ours, although older, has been shaded by other taller trees for years and years. Sadly, we lost a 72 foot white oak in a hurricane a couple of years ago (we're still warming our house with some of its wood!) and the Chinese chestnut is starting to decline with age and isn't shading it as much as in previous years. So the weeping cherry is getting more sunlight, and therefore is blooming more. Both sides of the coin: death and birth. The way of the Earth.

This is our fourth day of rain and/or mist. It's almost like Nature has formed a coccoon around the mountains in anticipation of spring's burst of blooms and flight. The weeping willows (another favorite) are feathering out. Frost was right: "Spring's first green is gold." I love how trees and bushes seem to tremble with color just before the new leaves/buds sprout. There's a subtle excitement in the air that I can feel and almost see. And the smell of that first spring rain is such a joy to me! It's as though the dirt is rising to catch those first drops, eager for reunion and interplay. One can smell the Earth's excitement!

As I think about Nature's excitement, my mind wanders back to this past summer when I visited crop circles in Wiltshire County, England. The circles we visited were in fields of barley. They are not always found in fields of grain; however most are reported in England, specifically the Wiltshire region.

Crop circles are created by electromagnetic energy that somehow form perfect, natural, and exquisite works of art. The energy causes great heat, but only lasts split seconds so that the crops are not burned. The crops are bent at growth nodes but not harmed; eventually, the stalks straighten and the grain finishes maturing for the harvest. That's one difference between naturally-occurring crop circles and the man-made hoax circles: the hoaxes damage the crops (they are also not perfectly created; even I can recognize a hoax with its irregular lines and faulty geometry when I see one and I'm no expert!)

I had never walked through a field of grain before. I've been in cornfields, but that is completely different from barley or wheat or oats. The day was overcast and windy, and as we were walking out of the field, the sun started peeking through the clouds. So I watched the fields come alive as it partnered with the winds and the sun. The grain danced with the wind and laughed as the sun shone between the clouds. I felt that I was observing a living being. It was like watching the ocean, always moving and changing and singing and sacred it in its place on the Earth. And then I was overcome by an exquisite sense of bliss from the grain: for the first time in my life I truly understood the term "staff of life". I was surrounded by life and the joy that the grain held.

Some farmers fear the circles because they don't understand what causes them and so consider them vandalism or -- worse yet -- works of evil. They mow them down as soon as they discover them. Some farmers, however, have small boxes at the gates to their fields so that people who visit the crop circles can leave a small donation. There is a specific etiquette to visiting crop circles: only walk in the tram lines, do not destroy any crops, and always close gates behind you are three of the most important.

Our guide, Francine Baker (an internationally-known authority on crop circles), maintains they are created by "higher intelligences". I'll leave that to your own interpretation, just as she left it to each of us to choose how to interpret her term. However, whoever or whatever creates these works of art is loving and peace-filled because when I was in the circles, I felt healing and peaceful energy coming from the phenomenon.

Francine has worked with the crop circles for 20 years. French Canadian, Francine traveled to England to study ancient symbols more than two decades ago and once she discovered crop circles, she never left. Circles incorporate ancient symbols and sacred geometry.

Not only has she studied the symbols, but Francine has also done scientific research on the circles, taking samples of grain and earth from the circles for independent scientific analysis. The effect of the energy literally changes the chemistry of the dirt that the circles are in. We all know that heat chemically changes whatever it affects. So it makes sense that the grain and the earth is chemically changed. And circles often occur in the same fields from season to season. That is because they are often located on "ley lines", or Earth energy lines.

As we left the circle we walked single file along the tram lines. I flashed on the scene from "The Gladiator" when the hero was dreaming of reuniting with his family, and he was walking through a beautiful field of grain, his fingertips brushing the bearded seed heads. The sun was golden and the grain was dancing in the breeze. It was a vivid and sensuous scene: watch it, one could almost feel the grain and hear its whispers. I asked Carla in front of me, "Did you see "The Gladiator"?" and she answered, "Yes. I know exactly which scene you're talking about."

As I was leaving the field, I felt absolute bliss from the grain and the earth. And I had another scene flash in my head. I "saw" the farmers planting their grain seeds in the early spring in rows of rich earth. I saw the seeds germinate in their dark earthy womb, sprouting delicate roots and the first stem that would push through to the surface and the sun. I saw these seeds growing and strengthening, deepening their roots in the rich soil that had been enriched by the previous crop circles created there and lengthening and lifting their first leaves into the air and to the sky. I saw them facing the sky and holding up their leaves and joyfully exclaiming, "Do me! Do me!" like a child begging to be tickled. The vision still makes me grin.

So these are some of the reasons I love crop circles and want to keep them in the forefront of my mind: they are benevolent and beautiful, amazing and awesome. We are surrounded by miracles all the time, and some of them are so outstanding and astounding that we just can't ignore them or write them off as coincidence. That is the magic and miracle of crop circles.

I hope you see the miracles around you today.

Peace,

Kate

Perfect Stillness

I couldn't resist including this today, from Finding Beauty In A Broken World by Terry Tempest Williams, an environmentalist committed to showing human's impact on the land:

"I watched prairie dogs every day rise before the sun, stand with their paws pressed together facing the rising sun in total stillness for up to 30 minutes. And then I watched them at the end of the day take that same gesture 30 minutes before the sun goes down they would press their palms together in perfect stillness. I don't mean to anthropomorphize, but when you look at a creature that has survived over the millennium begin and end each day in that kind of stance, it causes one to think about one's own life and speed and rapidity in which we live."

And this picture reminded me of this poem by Pablo Neruda:

Now we will count to twelve

and we will all keep still.

This one time upon the earth,

let’s not speak any language,

let’s stop for one second,

and not move our arms so much

It would be a delicious moment,

without hurry, without locomotives,

all of us would be together

in a sudden uneasiness.

The fishermen in the cold sea

would do no harm to the whales

and the peasant gathering salt

would look at his torn hands.

Those who prepare green wars,

wars of gas, wars of fire,

victories without survivors,

would put on clean clothing

and would walk alongside their brothers

in the shade, without doing a thing.

What I want shouldn’t be confused

with final inactivity:

life alone is what matters,

I want nothing to do with death.

If we weren’t unanimous

about keeping our lives so much in motion,

we could do nothing for once,

perhaps a great silence would

interrupt this sadness,

this never understanding ourselves

and threatening ourselves with death,

perhaps the earth is teaching us

when everything seems to be dead

and then everything is alive.

Now I will count to twelve

and you keep quiet and I’ll go.

-from Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon

I guess these thoughts on stillness struck me today because I am still following a delicate, fragile inner strand that is telling me how to regain and maintain balance in my life. I know stillness is part of the process. Conversely (no pun intended), I also just started an intentional walking practice this morning. And while walking and stillness might sound like opposites, I think my walks help focus the inner stillness that feeds my creative spirit.

I've been thinking about doing this for years... and especially since becoming unemployed. Get up in the morning, take the kids to school, and go for a walk with the intention of finding and following my path. The operative word in that statement is "thinking". But this weekend, I read a post by Patti Digh on her 37 Days blog (check it out; it's wonderful! And if you haven't read/practiced the book, please do!). Patti, who lives in Asheville, has made a commitment to running a half-marathon in May in Cincinnatti. She is training for it with trepidation. A reader wrote her a beautiful message of encouragement. I was so inspired by Patti's courage to follow through on what she fears that I have made a commitment of support for her by intentionally walking every day. Literally "Walking the Talk".

I used to be a strong walker. I loved to walk and would do it just for the heck of it. I remember walking with someone decades ago who commented on what a good, strong walker I was (while I was just walking!). Now my steps are heavier and slower, my stride shorter and stiffer. I need to become more flexible and strong physically so that I can do the same mentally and emotionally, and walking is just the ticket. So while I can't physically cheer Patti on at the race and congratulate her as she crosses the finish line, I can add my energy and commitment to hers -- while increasing my own and finding my way at the same time. Win-win!

So today I went for a walk at Connemara, Carl Sandburg's home which is only a few miles from our own. Connemara is a National Historic Site and is beautifully and lovingly maintained. There is a small lake below the house and a trail circling it surrounded by trees and rhododendron thickets and birds and quiet, peaceful joy. It's no wonder Carl and his wife Lillian decided to settle there; it was the perfect spot for them and their family: enough space for him to "dirty paper" (as he called it) and her to raise her award-winning goats. Make a visit, take a walk and it is clear why a writer could be so prolific there.

Today, while the crows were cawing in the early morning chill, I walked around the lake. As the tree tops captured the sun, the mosses caught my eye and my imagination. I want to find some green velvet and wash it in the washing machine and see if it comes out resembling moss so I can use it on a journal or a book or a pendant or something.

I imagined being a wood sprite and how I would set up home deep in the forest. I would sleep on moss in a bark home with cicada wing windows on a foundation of an old oak stump. Spider silk would surround my soft green bed made of fragrant cedar wood and comforted with down-filled ginko pillows and spring green leaf quilts. A laughing stream would sing to me all day, and I would serve tea in acorn caps in the fall and winter and honeysuckle blossoms in the spring and summer. Birds would be regular, curious visitors. I would be friends with all the animals. There would be no fear in the forest, only wisdom, sharing, and laughter.

(These pictures are not from Connemara, although they share green. They are from St. Nectan's Glen in Cornwall, England. I took them this summer. But that's another story for another day.)

I'm looking forward to the visions tomorrow's walk will open for me! Thanks to Carl and Lillian and Patti for the inspiration.

I hope you find your joy-filled visions today.

Peace,

Kate

A Teasing Nature

For 14 years, we have lived in a wonderful old Craftsman home with beautiful old plantings gracing our yard and standing sentry for our home. Among the old oaks and magnolias and camellias is a stunted white tulip tree. It is small; it may be declining, I can't quite tell (all our old dogwoods have been declining and dying because of the mountain blight that has held them hostage for many years). Our tulip tree blooms at the same time her pink sisters do, in early spring. Early enough so that there is often a biting frost between the blossoms peeking out of their brown blankets and the blooms opening fully to the sun.

I took these photographs of some of the white blossoms on Friday, amazed at the beauty of the blooms (which I had never seen because of those freezing night frosts). The blossoms are delicate, and in the morning light, they looked as though they were poised to take flight.

Sadly, Mother Nature is a tease this time of year: while our days have been lovely, sunny, and fairly warm, our past 2 nights have been at or below freezing. This morning's frost was too much for the brave tulip, and all but a handful of her blossoms were burned brown by the temperature. It makes the fact that I saw the pure white beauty -- albeit briefly -- that much more special. Another lesson in transience.

I hope you see the beauty around you today!

Peace,

Kate