“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.” - John Muir
“Rivers and rocks and trees have always been talking to us, but we’ve forgotten how to listen.”
- Michael Roads, Talking With Nature
“I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.” - Frank Lloyd Wright
In early November of 2008, I took a hike on Turkey Mountain that I will always remember and hold dear in my heart. It had been a long and beautiful fall that year, the kind that seems to hold the promise of never coming to an end. And as I walked, I held within my heart my own season, a time of unfolding promise, one that had been taking root for much of a lifetime.
I love to venture in wild places. I’ve been that way much of my life. The wild seems to call to me and whenever possible, I follow that call. And I always come away better for the experience. Nature is like that for all of us, although sometimes we don’t make the time we need for it. It calms our minds and bodies and at the same time recharges our psyches. It always leaves us better prepared to face the challenges of our daily lives and yet live in this world in a meaningful manner. In short, it reminds us of why we’re here, what life is really all about, and who we are. But those critical reminders don’t happen often enough for most of us city dwellers, at least not for me, not with the frantic pace of our daily lives. And so, I often find myself returning again and again to the places that can reach me and teach me what I most need to know, what is truly essential for living a life worth living.
At any rate, it wasn’t necessarily the kind of day that would inspire any poetic notions. The sky was overcast, a dull gray that had comfortably settled in and looked to stay that way for a time. By this late in the year, most of the leaves had already fallen from the trees, and what little color remained, lay scattered upon the trail that I walked upon. Regrettably, there was nothing left in bloom either, all the wild flowers having already put forth their colorful display and instead beginning their preparation for a long winter’s nap. But nevertheless, I was excited about being there. If nothing else, I had planned to get in a good brisk walk and feel all the better for it. And so I offered a brief prayer of gratitude and set out upon the mountain trail.
As I hiked further into the woods and wandered off the main trails as I tend to do, the path grew more narrow and harder to discern. An occasional low branch impeded my journey, but it was the spider webs strewn across the trail from overhanging branches that most demanded my attention. It seemed that every fifty feet or so I was having to wipe them from my face and neck and shoulders, so I eventually decided to look for a stick that might help me on my trek down the trail. Intent on getting a bit of a workout while enjoying the surrounding beauty, I looked as I walked. It was still early in the morning and not yet fully light, so it took me a while to find just the right stick, one that wasn’t too large to swing or too small to accomplish the task. Finally, just as I was starting to get a little discouraged, one caught my eye. I can’t say there was really anything special about it at the time, but it was lying conveniently just off the trail, and so I grabbed it up as I walked by. And just as I had planned, it served me well in clearing the webs lying across my path and thus ensured my walk was a much more enjoyable one.
The rest of the walk went by with little incident, more quickly than anticipated, and all too soon I had reached the end of the trail. As I prepared to exit the woods and move back into the civilized world, I stopped momentarily to give a final thanks to the universe and the woods and mountain in particular. It had been a good walk and a wonderful way to begin my day. My heart opened and reached out to the wilderness all around. As I did so, the sun peaked out quite unexpectedly from behind a cloud, and its soft light warmed me while it lit the shadowed woods where I stood. I stood there a moment more just to savor my last few minutes, and as I drew my arm back to gently toss my borrowed stick back into the woods, I became acutely aware of something I hadn’t noticed before. Admittedly, there have been many times in my life when I might never have noticed anything at all. And regrettably, there have been days when even noticing would have made little difference. But today was not that day. Too much had changed over the years; too much had changed over a lifetime.
By all measure this was an ordinary stick, no different from any other. I could have picked any of a hundred others to accompany me on my walk and might never have known the difference. But something had drawn me to this particular stick, and I had carried it with me and used it along the trail. And still I had almost missed it. At one little twisted crook, a dark knot had formed. Here, the dim light revealed a tiny break in the bark, a small round fissure if you will, and over the years a minuscule pocket of soil had collected in this crack. And hidden unobtrusively in this small barked vessel grew two tiny, beautiful purple flowers!
We’ve all seen the way nature seems to find a way to make a final stand, an appearance in the most unlikely of places. A crack in the sidewalk, out of a stone wall, in a window sill; I’ve even seen trees growing out of sheer rock in the foothills of the Rockies! And so two tiny flowers growing out of a stick would ordinarily come as no big surprise. And yet. . . . .
An awed silence filled me from head to toe, tugging at the far recesses of my mind, gently sweeping away the last refuge of reason and rational thought. All around me, in a language much older than words, the woods spoke. Through the songs of the birds, the wind through the trees, the swift movement of water in the nearby river, all offering up a prayer without words. And on this hillside called Turkey Mountain, my heart offered its own thanks-giving.
I knew instantaneously that this was a sign from the universe. I knew in a way and place that knows no doubt and without hesitation. It was a call, an omen, a summons or any of a dozen other names you might want to give it. Not a big one, mind you, but one just the same. Rather than a burning bush or a thundering voice from the sky, the kind of call that might send you running for cover, this was a wink, a nod, a subtle greeting, a reminder of an eternal relationship. It was a gift, a bouquet of wild flowers, an offering in celebration of a never-ending courtship between two star-crossed lovers. It was the kind of gift that reminds you that this is an intelligent universe, a living universe with an awareness that transcends time and place. It was a present that says you have been noticed, that the universe is aware of you, that you truly matter, that no matter your circumstances, your life has significance and meaning!
Of course, the irony here is that the universe has always been aware of me, acutely aware of each of us. But something had changed. And that change is significant because that change lies innately in me, innately in you. Once we begin to become aware, truly sensitive to the conscious universe all around, the whole world begins to change! It begins to speak to us, to reach out to us in the most amazing ways! For most of us, it’s not an overnight thing. It’s seldom an easily bestowed state of grace, a blessing given in a way that we might most aspire to. No, instead, it takes time and effort to build this relationship. And too often there is much to give up and some suffering to endure. Naturally, the obstacles lie not with the natural world but within each of us. Barriers of reason and rationality we have erected over a lifetime, walled fortresses around our hearts, our souls condemned like slaves to some dark dungeon. But once we begin truly noticing, acknowledging the world, even speaking to it in our own way, it begins talking back. Slowly at first, but it gains momentum with each step we take.
In truth, these sorts of things happen all the time, but we seldom take the time to notice. Some are more obvious while others slip by without breaching our conscious awareness. Sometimes it takes being literally knocked off our feet before we notice. But in truth, our every moment, every breath, every day, every thing is a gift of a sort. And when we begin to see life in that light, the gifts are endless.
With its long history of association with spirituality and Mother Earth, the turkey is sometimes called the Earth Eagle. And due to its noble self-sacrifice for the betterment of others, it is at times also referred to as the Give-Away Eagle by native people. As Native American author Jamie Sams tells it, “In turkey’s death, we have our life.” And so as I stand here on Turkey Mountain, I am forever filled with gratitude for what has been given, what has been learned, and what has been sacrificed on this mountain. I’m continually reminded that my life too is to be “a giveaway.” Not unlike the slithering snake in the dark mountain shadows, we each gradually shed our old skin, our old life, and take on the new. And in the Native American tradition, I carry this magic with me in my medicine bundle, in my heart, and it lights my way in this world.
Somewhat reluctantly, I carried my extra-ordinary stick back to my own piece of land and set it out in its own special spot, a potent place in which it could wield its sympathetic magic. But as things of this world are prone to do, over time, it simply disappeared. Perhaps the universe needed its enchanted energy elsewhere. But for me, its magic lives on. What I’ve come to understand is that the two flowers I was blessed with are my heart and the heart of the universe mutually merging, growing together, perhaps one day becoming one. I cherish that thought. And here in my heart, they still grow to this day. Every day, I tend to them and water them and carefully cultivate the soil. It’s an ongoing practice for all of us, illuminating the darkness and tearing down what remains of our walls. For like most things, if our life is to fully flower, we must bring it into the light!
______________________________
Every day is a god, each day is a god
and holiness holds forth in time.
I worship each god,
I praise each day splintered down,
and wrapped in time like a husk,
a husk of many colors spreading,
at dawn fast over the mountains split.
– Annie Dillard
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