Leah, as always, appreciate your wisdom. I was particularly touched by the concluding sentences, "we remind each other to tune our senses by focusing on them one by one for who can know how the cedars might speak to us today. We listen with the ears of the heart for the joy of cardinals that surpasses words. We hold the possibility of communion with this land and sky on this afternoon in ways we can never explain. And in these moments, we allow our thinking minds to be led by our compassionate hearts into richer relationships for the sake of our lives and those within this sacred web of community." Let our minds be led by our hearts and souls
Lot of wisdom here, Leah. Thank you for the inspiration! Also ... the Church of the Wild sounds wonderful, especially that the "sermon" is wandering in silence. Wish I lived closer! For me, walking meditation is the practice that creates and nourishes embodiment. To my body/mind, it feels like the perfect combination of movement and exploration within.
Thanks, Jeanne, for sharing your sense of walking meditation as a way to nourish embodiment. It's important to me as well. And, yes! I wish you were closer and could join us for Church of the Wild! That would be great.
So much to respond to here (wish there were room). I was interested, when you thought you might have been nudged in a different direction for your writing, that you said you lacked "awareness of any specific connection" of that process; or that something one of the Substack writers had said had planted "a seed of wisdom. . .that started to sprout without conscious tending on my part." Seems to me something else is at work through us, something more writers/artists now are calling either "the Imaginal Realm," or "Imaginal Ecology." What I like about it is that it posits a Source or Ground or whatever else you might want to call it, something that is always available to us. I believe you referred to it when you said "I hold the potential to draw upon a deeper knowing than the mind alone can foster." Exactly, and how exciting! How many more possibilities for creative living there are when we are aware of that. How many more connections and sense of belonging we could find.
The connections you see we "so desperately need to reweave"--beautifully referring to how we were "shaped by generations of tribes, villages, and extended families," bound together by sharing work and play, caring for all, singing, dancing, grieving and celebrating (Martin Prechtel's twin sisters, again, of grief and praise), finding that community being needed for survival. Not to mention that "we knew well the ecosystem into which we were inextricably woven." That all, to me, is the basis of Life, adding that another thing that used to be part of one's understanding of continued Life those millennia ago, was that Death is an absolute necessity for continued Life, and it was accepted and made sacred through various rituals. The Beauty in all that is, I feel, inescapable, and not accessed by "preferencing the mind." (The only thing I might ask you about is your statement, "Even though we have the capacity to live much more independently today, the need for connection is still deeply wired within us." I'm feeling that that's not a "capacity" that has turned out to be very beneficial. I'd much rather reject that "capacity" and go forward with the "old ways," inventing rituals to bring them creatively into the present. I think the significance of ritual is one of the real losses of modernity, and I find in it a hope for a new path for humanity.
The Imaginal Realm or Imaginal Ecology is a decidedly religious idea, though many might not want to use that descriptive. I do, because the etymology of the word "religion" actually means "to bind back." Isn't that what we're all talking about here? Longing for? It is an "unseen world" that
absolutely supersedes other ways of knowing and connecting, perhaps Blackie's "embodied mysticism." I'm guessing your Church of the Wild Two Rivers carries much of that in what you do. And although I'm not yet involved in anything like that on a community level, my husband and I are working on it and beginning to reach out where we can. If anyone is interested, here are a couple links to the writing of Brooke Williams, Terry Tempest Williams's husband:
Finally, Leah, I completely related to your example of "feeling" the weather on the plains of Kansas as a child, especially with gathering storms. Your description mirrored my own on the front range of the Rockies in Colorado, when the storms would come charging over the mountains, dark and mysterious, make a lot of noise, dump their refreshing rains and head on east over the flatlands. It was always so exciting and remains so to this day. Your saying that there were no meteorologists to report the weather (or send warnings for that matter) is related to something I've been saying for decades, initiated by my childhood experiences--that if you want to see what the weather is doing, look out the window--or better yet, go stand outside and feel it for yourself. Especially these days, when forecasters are hobbled by the exigencies of climate change, for me, it's a small way to once again feel myself part of my environment directly, rather than counting on others to tell me what's happening. (Hmmm. . .sounds like that might be something to consider when considering our political system as well?)
Carrie, I’m so glad you’re back! You offer so much wisdom. I’m leading a course tomorrow but will get back to you next week on a couple of your terrific points. 🩷
Very lovely read Leah. Enjoyed so much hearing about your pull into writing this post, this what I love about Substacks, that opportunity for spontaneity and for being lead in unexpected directions. MY practice is tai chi in my park under gums and casuarinas where I am visited by all manner of beings and serenaded by the birds. Each day different !
I just love your gorgeous writing! It's so rich and evocative. That description of being with your father as the storms rolled in - marvelous! I was right there with you. And what a lovely surprise to read your description of the gathering last weekend. I was so nourished by it. ❤️
Leah, as always, appreciate your wisdom. I was particularly touched by the concluding sentences, "we remind each other to tune our senses by focusing on them one by one for who can know how the cedars might speak to us today. We listen with the ears of the heart for the joy of cardinals that surpasses words. We hold the possibility of communion with this land and sky on this afternoon in ways we can never explain. And in these moments, we allow our thinking minds to be led by our compassionate hearts into richer relationships for the sake of our lives and those within this sacred web of community." Let our minds be led by our hearts and souls
Thank you, Robin. I appreciate you and am grateful that this resonated with you.
Lot of wisdom here, Leah. Thank you for the inspiration! Also ... the Church of the Wild sounds wonderful, especially that the "sermon" is wandering in silence. Wish I lived closer! For me, walking meditation is the practice that creates and nourishes embodiment. To my body/mind, it feels like the perfect combination of movement and exploration within.
Thanks, Jeanne, for sharing your sense of walking meditation as a way to nourish embodiment. It's important to me as well. And, yes! I wish you were closer and could join us for Church of the Wild! That would be great.
So much to respond to here (wish there were room). I was interested, when you thought you might have been nudged in a different direction for your writing, that you said you lacked "awareness of any specific connection" of that process; or that something one of the Substack writers had said had planted "a seed of wisdom. . .that started to sprout without conscious tending on my part." Seems to me something else is at work through us, something more writers/artists now are calling either "the Imaginal Realm," or "Imaginal Ecology." What I like about it is that it posits a Source or Ground or whatever else you might want to call it, something that is always available to us. I believe you referred to it when you said "I hold the potential to draw upon a deeper knowing than the mind alone can foster." Exactly, and how exciting! How many more possibilities for creative living there are when we are aware of that. How many more connections and sense of belonging we could find.
The connections you see we "so desperately need to reweave"--beautifully referring to how we were "shaped by generations of tribes, villages, and extended families," bound together by sharing work and play, caring for all, singing, dancing, grieving and celebrating (Martin Prechtel's twin sisters, again, of grief and praise), finding that community being needed for survival. Not to mention that "we knew well the ecosystem into which we were inextricably woven." That all, to me, is the basis of Life, adding that another thing that used to be part of one's understanding of continued Life those millennia ago, was that Death is an absolute necessity for continued Life, and it was accepted and made sacred through various rituals. The Beauty in all that is, I feel, inescapable, and not accessed by "preferencing the mind." (The only thing I might ask you about is your statement, "Even though we have the capacity to live much more independently today, the need for connection is still deeply wired within us." I'm feeling that that's not a "capacity" that has turned out to be very beneficial. I'd much rather reject that "capacity" and go forward with the "old ways," inventing rituals to bring them creatively into the present. I think the significance of ritual is one of the real losses of modernity, and I find in it a hope for a new path for humanity.
The Imaginal Realm or Imaginal Ecology is a decidedly religious idea, though many might not want to use that descriptive. I do, because the etymology of the word "religion" actually means "to bind back." Isn't that what we're all talking about here? Longing for? It is an "unseen world" that
absolutely supersedes other ways of knowing and connecting, perhaps Blackie's "embodied mysticism." I'm guessing your Church of the Wild Two Rivers carries much of that in what you do. And although I'm not yet involved in anything like that on a community level, my husband and I are working on it and beginning to reach out where we can. If anyone is interested, here are a couple links to the writing of Brooke Williams, Terry Tempest Williams's husband:
https://orionmagazine.org/article/imaginal-ecology/
https://books.openbookpublishers.com/10.11647/obp.0186.13.pdf
Finally, Leah, I completely related to your example of "feeling" the weather on the plains of Kansas as a child, especially with gathering storms. Your description mirrored my own on the front range of the Rockies in Colorado, when the storms would come charging over the mountains, dark and mysterious, make a lot of noise, dump their refreshing rains and head on east over the flatlands. It was always so exciting and remains so to this day. Your saying that there were no meteorologists to report the weather (or send warnings for that matter) is related to something I've been saying for decades, initiated by my childhood experiences--that if you want to see what the weather is doing, look out the window--or better yet, go stand outside and feel it for yourself. Especially these days, when forecasters are hobbled by the exigencies of climate change, for me, it's a small way to once again feel myself part of my environment directly, rather than counting on others to tell me what's happening. (Hmmm. . .sounds like that might be something to consider when considering our political system as well?)
Thanks for another deeply rich post!
Carrie, I’m so glad you’re back! You offer so much wisdom. I’m leading a course tomorrow but will get back to you next week on a couple of your terrific points. 🩷
Very lovely read Leah. Enjoyed so much hearing about your pull into writing this post, this what I love about Substacks, that opportunity for spontaneity and for being lead in unexpected directions. MY practice is tai chi in my park under gums and casuarinas where I am visited by all manner of beings and serenaded by the birds. Each day different !
Thanks, Sally. What a beautiful practice! I can picture that.
I just love your gorgeous writing! It's so rich and evocative. That description of being with your father as the storms rolled in - marvelous! I was right there with you. And what a lovely surprise to read your description of the gathering last weekend. I was so nourished by it. ❤️
Thank you so much. I'm grateful to hear that the descriptions resonated with you. And SO glad that you were with us last weekend!!