"Isn't it plain the sheets of moss, except that they have no tongues, could lecture all day if they wanted about spiritual patience?" Mary Oliver
A favorite bike ride of mine years ago was from Whistler to Lucille Lake along an abandoned highway. Within a few years the paved road was almost completely overgrown with grass, various weeds, young cottonwoods and willows.
Today, the unused moss covered road in our local park reminded me of that deserted highway and of how powerful nature is in it's ability to continually transform one thing into another, and how everything becomes a part of everything else eventually. Does anyone else wonder if the human species were not on this planet, the world would continue on in a more balanced way? I wonder how long it would take for our 'stable' structures to be transformed and returned to the earth's body...
"Wilderness is not redeemed by man, man is redeemed by wilderness." Ken Burns National Parks documentary.
In today's practice, I was initially drawn to this area by a large flock of robins in the trees - so loudly singing... I was then longing to get in touch with the carpet of brilliant green moss with the sense of touch - soft, cool and squishy as it was soaked with water. From the earth I was drawn to connect with the dancing branches of the tree...
Today's dance felt like a celebration of spring, the tenacity of nature, and the energies of new life awakening in the moss and in the budding branches... even though it is barely February.
Thank you for reading. I hope in some way this blog has inspired you :~)
I rose this morning early as usual, and went to my desk.
But it's spring,
and the thrush is in the woods,
somewhere in the twirled branches, and he is singing.
And so, now, I am standing by the open door.
And now I am stepping down into the grass.
I am touching a few leaves.
I am noticing the way the yellow butterflies
move together, in a twinkling cloud, over the field.
And I am thinking: maybe just looking and listening
is the real work.
Maybe the world, without us,
is the real poem.
Music: Brian Ono
Filmed by Brooke
Visit my butoh mentor's beautiful blog here: Maureen 'Momo' Freehill