Whenever I’m feeling stressed, down or blocked I head straight for Nature. There’s something deeply spiritual about taking a quiet walk in the woods or listening to the birds at first light. The natural world sets my soul at ease in a way that nothing else can. It’s better than any self-help book or DVD—by far. So much so, that a few minutes of nature gives me more benefit than hours of spiritual study.
If you think about it, this makes sense. People have been turning to nature for spiritual guidance for thousands of years. In fact, before written language, nature was our only teacher. We looked to the stars, the world and the animals for instruction on how to live better lives. We had a deep connection to the natural world. We watched its patterns, its signs and even its moods. Then we lived in accordance with what we saw.
Getting back to nature is one the easiest and most enjoyable ways to reconnect with your spiritual self. And if you are willing to listen and watch, the life lessons are literally everywhere.
Yesterday I took an early morning bike ride on one of our woodland trails. It’s a wonderful spot. It has older-growth trees, wildlife, the Lahave River and a sense of the wilderness without being too isolated. Here’s what happened…
As I quietly rode the trail, I opened myself up to everything around me. It didn’t take long before the trees, the animals, the river, and even the trail itself was gently whispering secrets in my ear and reminding me of lessons I’d been neglecting of late.
First off, I paused for a minute or two to watch the river beside the trail gently flow by. Here and there, large rocks stuck out of the river. One particularly huge rock caught my eye and I studied the water as it quietly and without any effort at all, simply moved around it. As great a barrier the rock seemed to be, the water merely went around it—no fuss, no muss—as if it wasn’t even there.
In life we tend to place far too much attention and energy on perceived barriers. The more we focus on a barrier or a problem, the bigger it becomes. We fight and push against our problems, never getting any further ahead, when all we need to do is go around. And here I found the first lesson:
Don’t push against life’s barriers—go around them.
I rode on. My mind wondered for a moment and I started to think about an unexpected bill that was due. I thought about abundance, and imagined a day when my financial worries would be gone. As I peddled along the trail I noticed the thousands, no millions, of green leaves all around me. Every blade of grass, every leaf, every plant existing in profusion—and each and every one filtering the air and pumping out oxygen for me to breathe.
I glanced down at the trail, noticing the multitude of tiny pebbles covering the path. A year before, the trail had been uneven and difficult to ride. But now all these countless grains of sand worked together to provide me with a smooth and comfortable ride.
As I looked around, I suddenly became acutely aware and present to the fact that we live in an abundance universe. From the water in the river, to the leaves on the trees, to the sand beneath me—it is all offered up in abundance. The universe is one grand exercise in abundance.
I also realized in that moment that I was a part of that abundant universe. The only thing that separates me from financial abundance is my incorrect notion that I’m not a part of it. Abundance is always present, if we take proper notice.
I thought back to the rock in the river. If my financial barriers are like the rock and my natural abundance is like the river, all I need to do is go around the barriers instead of focusing on them.
And herein was the second lesson:
Accept that we live in an abundant universe.
Feeling more energized and in tune than I had in weeks I moved deeper into the woods. There I came upon a number of massive oak trees that had been downed in a storm the week before. They lay snapped in two, their huge trunks splintered like broken pencils. I got off my bike to have a closer look. The wood was fresh and healthy—absolutely no rot. And yet they had broken in the wind when other seemingly weaker trees had survived.
I
examined the trees that had weathered the storm. To no surprise, these seemed
more flexible than the old hardwoods. The giant oaks were strong, for sure, but
rigid.
In life, flexibility will win out over strength—every time. A flexible person
can bend and adapt to changes, new situations, challenges and problems. But a
rigid person, no matter how strong, will break eventually under the strain.
Just like the oak tree. The third lesson is reflected in these broken trees and
the Tao…
The soft shall overcome the hard.
I make my way back to the path and my eye catches a dew-covered spider’s web glistening in the sunlight. Sitting still as stone, at the center of the web, a large black spider waits. There’s no way to know just how long the spider has been there, but I get the sense it’s been awhile.
There’s a rock nearby, so I decide to sit for a bit. After all, I’m here to learn from nature—right? Half an hour passes, and very little happens. In fact, nothing happens. The spider might be dead for all I can tell. I ignore a few strange looks from passerbys and continue to watch.
Then, finally, about ten minutes later a moth gets caught in the web. The spider springs into action and pounces on its breakfast.
What would have happened if the spider had gotten tired of waiting? What if it had started to doubt if it would ever reach its goal—and simply gave up?
I think that’s exactly what people do—far too much. We give up on our dreams just as they are about to materialize. Doubt and impatience can easily rob us of our prize, if we give into them. So I got my fourth message from a spider…
Don’t fall prey to impatience.
I’m back on my bike, peddling happily along when I enter a darker section of the trail where a grove of huge pine trees grow. The morning sunlight is blocked out by these enormous trees and my eyes are drawn upward. They are well over one hundred feet tall. I climb off my bike and walk over to the largest one and stand at is base.
I make a feeble attempt to put my arms around the trunk and I don’t even get half way around.
Glancing down at the partially exposed roots I wonder just how far down they go.
As huge as this tree is, it started out as a tiny seed, no bigger than my finger nail.
How could a tree, this big, be tucked away in such a small package?
I can hear the river rushing over the rocks nearby. Here the river is deep and full—millions of gallons of water! And yet the river, as spectacular as it is, began with as a trickle somewhere much further upstream.
In life, we can get easily discouraged by looking at the totality of a goal or a dream. Looking at the “big picture” can be overwhelming. “It’s too big.” “I’ll never be able to do it.” “It’s too hard.”
But remember, everything ever created, any goal ever achieved, started out small. JK Rowling’s Harry Potter began with a single drop of ink on the page. All of Mozart’s great works started with a solitary note.
We shouldn’t get discouraged by big dreams. Nature certainly doesn’t. We just have to remember to break our aspirations and goals into smaller, more manageable bits. Take the first step and then the next and next… One at a time.
All big things have small beginnings. So start small.
By this time I was feeling so good, so in tune, that I didn’t want to go home. It’s easy to get lost in the moment, so close to nature. The birds singing, the gentle sway of the trees in the breeze, the bubbling river had all gently pulled me into the Now of the moment.
While in the Now, it is impossible to be anywhere else. In the Now, there are no regrets of the past or worries of the future.
Even the animals are constant reminders to stay present. The patient spider from before was certainly in the present moment.
Then, as if on cue, I saw a deer moving through the trees nearby. It walked with a quiet “presence”. At that time, I doubted very much that it is anywhere but right there—in the moment. It wasn’t worrying about where it would sleep that night or if there was food around the next tree. It was just being.
In
that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and gratitude for where I
was and the gift of being where I was–in that time and space.
And maybe that is the greatest lesson of the morning.
The present moment is a gift—treasure it.
It
was nearly noon, and I had lost all track of time, but I felt great. I rode
home with a new determination to use these lessons on a more regular basis.
Lets review them one last time:
The present moment is a gift—treasure it.
All big things have small beginnings. So start small.
Don’t fall prey to impatience.
The soft shall overcome the hard.
Accept that we live in an abundant universe.
Don’t push against life’s barriers—go around them.
Why not try this for yourself? Get back into nature. Sit on your back deck and breathe in the world around you. Go for a walk. Find a quiet place, just listen and be. You never know what nature might be trying to tell you.
And leave me a comment to let me know what nature told you.
Til next week,
Troy