Sensing the Land

Feb 21, 04:07 PM

Morning February 19th 2018

I stand outside at sunrise. Listen, has been the spiritual message I have been getting for a long while. So I try to listen more and longer, as often as I remember. This morning is visually spectacular, but I close my eyes, once I’ve found my spot in the snow by the well. It’s easier to listen with the eyes closed. So I stand there in the warming sun with my birch staff and housecoat, feeling the energy of my feet grounding into the earth. Breathing in fresh cool air into my body, exhaling what is me, out into the land. Inviting myself to become as fully present and in my body as I can be.
The first thing I hear is the continuous drone of large ocean waves crashing on the shore outside the Mahone Bay islands. An off shore storm must be passing through. If I shift my perception I can pretend I’m in a city or near a highway with the noise of traffic. Gratefully I come back quickly to the reality of the ocean. I live here for a reason, and a big one is natural sound. The next sounds I notice are all the birds flying around, waking up, and greeting the day like me. I hear chickadees and finches at my feeder, crows announcing morning news to each other across the neighbouring land formations. Seagulls swooping and squawking overhead. What are they on about? Perhaps they notice the seagull wings I picked up off the beach yesterday drying on my well. Maybe it was one of their friends. “I’m sorry your friend died” I say. Then I hear a loon out in the cove, she calls every few minutes, and jays travelling around looking for the gang. Then there’s starlings clucking and twinkling somewhere near the willows. What’s that? I think a fox barked.

I shift my perceptions from listening to feeling. Can I feel the life growing under the soil? The great earth waking up? I think I can, the energy under my feet certainly feels more alive. I feel a sense of being watched, like eyes on on me. I’m being observed and felt as I observe and feel. Is it the spirit of the land? Or all the many beings that I share life with here, the birds and breezes, and trees. I begin to feel a light cool breeze touching my bare hands. I reach out to touch back, sharing intimate physical communion with the air. For a moment I think about summer teeming with songbirds, insects, and flowers. How different it is now, so quiet and stark, but still full of life. I open my eyes to see the golden white crystal snow with it’s contrasting rich blue shadows. Everything is covered in snow diamonds this morning. The temperature is ideal, just around zero, no wind. A perfect winter morning. I think and feel up to the moon, rising just behind the sun, and all the summer stars up in the sky past our pale blue atmosphere. I notice tracks in the snow, coming up the driveway, crossing over to Lily’s and then coming back over here to the well. The beast mostly used the car tracks but I notice how it’s paw prints show up by the well where I have the seagull wings drying. Most likely our local fox checking things out, looking for treats. I call her Annie. Annie Fox was my Great Irish Grandmother.

I begin to chill and notice that my time of stillness and sensing is over. With great gratitude for this morning, I come back in to write this.

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