The past four months have been a challenge. It has taken that long for my arm to heal after my op in March, a much longer time than I ever imagined. In that time I have had good days and truly awful days. Days where I need to get outside and breathe, and days where I just want to hide myself behind a book or a phone screen.
And now that I am starting to finally feel normal again, I have begun to get heart palpitations, scarily fast or slow heartbeats, and sometimes what feels like a pause. A pretty scary thing. So out of one stream of surgery visits and into the next.
Meanwhile, on the island, things are not going well. The suspected bird flu outbreak on the lagoon continues to wreak havoc on the tern colonies, with deaths every day of chicks and adults. The total of hundreds of birds lost to this cruel virus is heartbreaking. The island and the lagoon feel wounded. As do I. I went away in June on the week-long residential part of my course with Natural Academy, where I discovered things about myself I never expected, found unknown strengths, and explored weaknesses. I came home feeling different, somehow more connected, more aware. Coming back to avian flu was like a slap in my much more attuned face.
So in these weeks, when the feeling of losing gets too much, when the questions come every day about how many lost, how long, what will happen next, when the rhythm of my heartbeat tries to play a crazy tune along with my anxiety and makes me feel dizzy and disassociated, the grounding, holding wholeness of earth has come to my aid.
Every morning, and at least a few times during the day, I have made sure to take the time to sit, quietly, breathe and ground. To be with earth, tree, bird, ant, leaf, dragonfly. In these times I find myself rooted, firmly planted in earth, soil, leaf litter, pine needles. I feel my breath in and out, shared with so many other occupants of this place. Taken in by gull, vole, lizard; given by tree, sky, air.
Even a few minutes indoors, listening to blackcap outside my window, watching sika deer eating her breakfast of seemingly impenetrable bramble, is enough. Grounding, breathing, being.
The other joy I have found is to leave the screen behind. Leave the social media whirl, the self-gratifying urges of sharing every detail of life. To stop looking down, to look up. Outside.
A morning poem, a few pages of prose, a podcast with a fascinating subject or an inspiring person. A more graceful, peaceful, gentle start to the day.
And the other fascination, taking time to slow down, to look closely, to let myself be drawn in and be wholly distracted by the small things. To study, to remember, to photograph the detail. To describe its beauty. Taking in the awe and wonder of the detail.
So just for a minute, take time out from the office, from the screen, from the demanding immediacy of your mobile phone. Nothing is so important it can’t wait for you to take a few slow breaths, to be fully in the world, in the moment, in life.
When everything else is forgotten for just a minute. Then is the time to just be.
Stones and Feathers 