The Creek

 Earlier I wrote about stopping on my normal walk in Bemis to begin breathing at the pace of nature.

Piet Mondrian - Small Birch Forest - ca.1902

Over the summer I continued that practice, stopping on the bridge over Salt Creek to watch, take in nature 10-breaths at a time.  

Often, each breath will bring with it a new observation - something I hadn't seen before (hadn't seen how the current takes the watery grass or the reflection of the few red leaves on the water) or something that "arises" (like a duck landing or a wind picking up and making soft noises in the leaves).  I'll breath slowly, counting as I notice something else.  Occasionally, I'll take a breath and nothing will have changed.  That's not the norm, though.  If I forget myself in thought, or if I find that I've been counting breaths, but not noticing, I'll go back.  So, this practice sometimes takes a lot more than 10 breaths.  After 10 breaths, I'm certainly slower, calmer.  I feel more aware of the natural rhythms of forest and stream, birds and breezes. I realize that there IS a world separate and coherent from me and my accounting of it (which is different still from my normal way of encountering the world, which is where the world is simply obstacles and/or background as I make my way through to my next deadline, project, task, destination.)

Yesterday, something new occurred.  (I did this late morning... I ran for a mile from home and into the woods, then walked, feeling more attuned by the effort of the run) I was watching the stream, noticing endless glittering of sun on rippling water, hearing the rising and falling of breeze in the trees, seeing leaves sometimes fall, sometimes aided by the wind, sometimes not.  I noticed the leaves fall into the water and began watching the leaves travel in the water, carried along by the general downward current, but also by other factors underwater.  Two leaves next to each other do not more down the stream in tandem.  One snags an unseen eddy, one is drawn towards a faster section.

What came over me, what inhabited me, was a peaceful, contented watching.  It was not a scientific stance ("I'm watching for the underwater forces") or expository ("look at how two leaves dropped in the water stray from each other") but quietly appreciative.  Even that description feels not-right.  I wasn't saying "gosh, how I appreciate this nice little hydrodynamic display of leave, breeze, and water."  I was following it along and seeing the rightness of it.  "Yes, this is how things are.  It's the movie of life and it's pretty interesting.... not just the going downstream but also the slight turnings and the accompanying sounds."