The hour bows down and stirs me
with a clear and ringing stroke;
my senses tremble. I feel that I can—
and seize the forming day. —Rainer Maria Rilke
God does not let us wander far.
And yet there are times when I feel as if the connection is too distant and that I haven’t a clue as to where I’m headed. Sometimes it seems as if I’ve take more wrong turns than right pathways. In fact, I’ll admit I’ve had years where trekking from one disaster to another was my modus operandi. In my heart, I know that wasn’t so, it’s just the way that I perceived things at the time.
When I find myself feeling fragmented or interpreting too many situations incorrectly that is when I have to be still. My extremes are either overdrive or forced rest. Adopting the in-between stance is a productive alternative. What is so beautiful in the state of stillness is that nothing needs to be planned. Whatever is happening at the moment is what is.
Now, I’ll be honest and let you know that I haven’t always found “stillness” to be beautiful or even comfortable. When I first allowed myself to enter into being still, I wanted to make something of it and it was after yet, another traumatic job transition that I knew I needed to take a different tactic.
I drove to a park, left my trappings—cellphone, portable music, journal, ipad—in the car. No distractions or entertainment. The park was inviting and looked similar to the photograph of nature beckoning at the top of the page.
The first encounter was extremely frustrating as I wanted something to happen—and something did happen—but not what I expected. As the days and weeks passed my heart and soul developed a yearning for the serenity, peacefulness and unpredictability of each moment, that eventually morphed into two hour long respites in nature.
In those visits with nature the birds sang, wind softly caressed my skin and occasionally messed with my hair, flowers swayed and danced in breezes, squirrels scampered and played among the trees, and sometimes a rain shower sent me running for shelter. Nothing mattered though, but resting in the state of stillness.
Did being still change the situation? Absolutely not.
Did I receive deep insights? Periodically.
Most of all I recognized that I was not in control, never was, or would ever be—and that’s probably a very good thing. Allowing that insight to sink into every cell of my being was transformative. As time passed and my body absorbed the chemical transmission of daily visits in nature I developed a more accepting attitude of all that was happening around me. While I didn’t immediately embrace the changes, the memory of those days are a special reminder of my evolution into a different way of carrying myself. An evolution that allowed me to free myself from societal expectations; to craft a creative schedule and way of life which was more authentic and personally gratifying.
What has been somewhat of a challenge is living into the practice of stillness when in the midst of free floating daily activities and excitations. Encouraging myself to regain balance and ease into equilibrium while everyone else is rushing and striving for more is grace at work.
Those days in nature weren’t wasted. My body knows what stillness feels like and I can attune to it more often and allow a softness in my heart, a breath, and rest my hands on my lower abdomen to renew my connection to Wholeness. When I perceive just a twinge of unhealthy behavior arising I respond to the call of stillness as quickly and calmly as possible.
My prayer is that you too develop your own tools or postures of stillness that you can draw on and embrace as needed when you face a wrangled, contentious, and over-busy world.
Thank you so much for this beautiful revelation and your connection to stillness. I love the TS Eliot poetic wisdom “in stillness, moving still.”