Music cue:
Too Brief A Time To Be Anything
by HoliznaCC0
licensed under a CC0 1.0 Universal License.
Beneath the Ancient Oak
a Guided Meditation
Prologue
10 min.
Hello.
I'm Stephen Watson of SomedayFarm.org.
I invite you to find a comfortable position where your body feels supported and at ease. Take your time. I'm going to take my time...right alongside you.
Once you're comfortably seated, I invite to enjoy a slow breath. In through the nose and slowly. Out through the mouth when ready - letting it fully depart. Again? Ok. In through the nose - deeply and slowly. When it feels right, let it all out...slowly through the mouth.
Now, allow your eyes to softly close.
Take a deep breath in...hold it gently...and release it completely.
Once more, breathe deeply in...pause...and exhale fully.
Let your breathing find its natural rhythm, unhurried and unforced.
We are going to take our time with this meditation. We are going to be unhurried, here. Our unhurried presence is a gift. A gift that we can enjoy now and others can enjoy later.
Soak in this Now.
Settle your body in.
Settle your breath in.
Settle your mind in.
As you settle in, feel where your body connects to the Earth through the surface beneath you. Or, maybe surfaces. Perhaps through your sit bones or feet. Perhaps through your back. Maybe the cushion, or the floor. Perhaps the chair. For me, it is a lush carpet of moss on the North side of this extraordinary oak tree. Oh my, its so spongily soft. Soooo green. Notice these points of contact grounding you to this moment, to this place. With each breath, you settle more deeply into presence. I'm settling, too.
And breathing:
Inhaling slowly...
Exhaling completely.
Inhaling easily...
Exhaling more slowly.
Inhaling...
Exhaling...
That's it. Nice.
Let's begin; I'll tell the story of my meditation...
Your eyes are softly closed.
Your slow breathing will help to anchor you here.
Into a deep place within from the nose - and going slowly.
Out from that deep inner place through the mouth - and going so slowly.
My story will fill your mind.
And perhaps calm and quiet you.
And perhaps soften and open your heart.
And perhaps renew and ripen your spirit.
We will take our time and visualize.
We will feel it all.
Here we go...
You're in a comfortable position with gently closed eyes. You're supported and still. The breath is even and without strain.
Take a slow, deep breath in...hold it briefly...and release completely.
Once more: breathe in deeply...hold...and exhale fully.
Your breathing has found its natural rhythm - unhurried and effortless.
Each breath arrives and departs like a songbird on an evergreen bough.
Feel the weight of your body against the surface supporting you. Notice those points of contact again - your feet on the floor, your back against the chair, your hands resting in your lap. With each slow breath, you become more grounded, more present.
Inhale...
Exhale...
The Oak and I...
Begins at 10 min. Mark
I am standing at the edge of an ancient forest. This forest has memories that extend further back in time than my imaginings can reach. The morning air is crisp and clear, carrying the sweet scent of wildflowers and Earth and last evening's rain. Before me stretches a narrow path, worn smooth by countless feet over countless years. I smile at the large boulder behind the cedar tree - wondering if a glacier left it there long ago. I begin to walk, slowly. I'm in no hurry. I am devoted to mindfulness, today. I am devoted to mindfulness every time I visit the forest. I am feeling the soft ground beneath my steps. Sometimes a cat's soft paw padding past on a carpet, other times a crunch.
The forest welcomes me with dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above. In Japanese, they call this light Komorebi. I wonder how Life itself filters through me and into my inner experience. Light and Shadow dance across my path. Peripherally, I keep being reminded of butterflies but when I turn my head...well, I haven't seen one - yet. The vibrant greens of Spring surround me - young ferns unfurling, moss-covered stones, and the varied textures of tree bark. I notice some deadfall that is familiar - from walks here in prior years. I notice some deadfall from this past Winter, too. Much of the forest is becoming horizontal and yet in this coming Spring season of renewal I know that much of the forest will reassert verticality.
I walk past willow, and beech. I marvel at the rare chestnut. I think that one might be an ash tree. I see tulip trees and sugar maples. There was a leaning red maple with new growth in new directions.
As I follow the gentle curve of the path, I notice the sounds of the forest - birdsong overhead, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant murmur of a stream. My own crunching steps. A branch falling through branches and into a cushion of leaf litter. Each step takes me deeper into this living sanctuary. I'm pretty sure that was a frog of some sort, sounding out just now.
The path gradually widens and leads me to a sun-drenched clearing. In the center stands a magnificent oak tree, its massive trunk speaking of centuries of growth, its branches reaching toward the Sky in a powerful gesture of patience and persistence. This oak could be a thousand years old! Many of its larger limbs are themselves far larger than the trunks of mature trees nearby.
I approach the ancient oak, aware that I am in the presence of a Teacher. This tree has witnessed the passage of countless seasons, weathered storms, provided shelter, dropped its acorns, and begun again - over and over through time. Time perhaps best measured in eons. I cannot count its cracks, its scars, it cankers. But it seems that the small world of abundant life in this forest can count on this oak. And has - for many seasons and will - for many more.
As I stand beneath the oak's sweeping limbs, I enjoy sensing the higher humidity here. The leaf litter beneath the oak holds the moisture here. The smell is stronger and richer. The air feels cooler. I begin to think of the bacteria, the fungus, the insects that come to appreciate and depend on this microenvironment. I wonder if I might spy Shiitake or Oyster mushrooms. Perhaps Turkey Tail or Reishi. They all seem to enjoy the oak. I make a mental note to look carefully at any oak branches that have fallen into shady bits - maybe I'll wonder at a mushroom's fruiting body and make a good guess at its type.
At the base of the oak is a natural hollow, forming a perfect seat against its trunk.
I seek permission to touch the Oak. I bow. I draw nearer.
Inhale...
Exhale...
I rest against its trunk, feeling the subtle energy flowing between us - this ancient being and myself.
I settle myself there in the hollow-seat at its base. I am feeling the solid strength of the tree against my back. The ground beneath this hollow-seat is cushioned with soft moss and fallen leaves.
Inhale...
Exhale...
This ancient oak represents the wisdom of cycles, the wisdom of seasons. It stands as a testament to resilience, to deep-rootedness, to the power of slow and steady growth. The oak may be more like the stones of the forest than its fellow trees. It has such a long view of time and of life.
I begin to think (or maybe I am feeling) that the tree communicates with me best through silent contact. I make a mental note to reconsider the power of touch in my own relationships...outside of the forest.
Inhale...
Exhale...
I offer my attention to my own cycles and seasons. Like this tree, I too have weathered storms. I've dropped my acorns. I've had birds briefly perch upon my limbs. I've experienced the dormancy of Winter, the hopeful budding of Spring, the full bloom of Summer, and the necessary release of Autumn. I've had bears clawing at my bark, woodpeckers relentlessly rapping at my sides, beetles boring under my skin. I've had my share of limbs fall to the ground around me. Each season has shaped me, taught me, transformed me.
Inhaling deeply...
Exhaling slowly...
The oak does not rush its growth. It does not flower before its time. It does not cling to its leaves when Autumn calls for release. It spends a great amount of time and energy producing thousands of acorns each year...only to freely offer them to whomsoever may find a need. It might be a hungry bear, another hungry bear, or of course the many hungry squirrels of the forest. The oak stands in perfect harmony with the rhythms of nature, neither resisting nor forcing the natural flow of life. The natural flow that is and becomes the forest. The natural flow that is and becomes this oak.
Inhaling so deeply...
Exhaling so slowly...
Oh! A butterfly. I always thought they might better be called Flutterbys. That's what they do. And while we're at it - aren't squirrels really Squiggles? That's what they do.
As I breathe here in this sacred space, I consider what season I am currently experiencing in my own life. Is this a time of new beginnings? A time of full expression? A time of necessary endings? Or perhaps a time of quiet restoration?
Whatever season I am in, I acknowledge its purpose and its wisdom. I release the need to be in any season other than the one I am experiencing now. Like the oak, I can trust the natural unfolding of my life.
A fox seemingly swims past the elder trees and the older stones. Inaudible and impossibly smooth. I think I hear an owl hoot or coo. Somewhere the scent of death, of rot - which I know is the scent of life. I'm inspired to consider how an oak plays host to and shelters countless species, from birds to insects to mammals. And lizards and lichen and more. An oak's canopy provides nesting sites, while its trunks and branches offer innumerable and perfectly cozy hiding spots for smaller creatures.
Inhaling effortlessly and ever so deeply...
Exhaling quietly and ever so slowly...
I feel the solidity of the tree against my back, and I imagine drawing that same groundedness into my deepest being. I visualize roots extending from the base of my spine, reaching down into the Earth, anchoring me firmly to this moment, to this place. Roots the communicate and share and connect.
With each breath, I draw up nourishment from these imagined roots. Earth energy flows upward through my body, filling me with stability and strength. And a cosmic certainty. I am held, supported, & truly connected to the vast web of life.
As I rest here, I offer these intentions silently:
* "May I honor the season I am in."
* "May I trust everything's natural cycles of growth and rest."
* "May I stand rooted in my own truth."
* "May I extend my branches toward the light, even as I weather the storms."
I sit quietly with these intentions, allowing them to sink deeply into my consciousness. The ancient oak stands with me in silent companionship, its presence a reminder of what it means to live in harmony with the natural world and with my own nature.
Inhale...
Exhale...
The breeze stirs the leaves overhead, creating a gentle rustling song. I listen to this music of nature, letting it wash over me, cleanse me, remind me of the beauty of simply being. I begin to think of the song of sunlight filtering through the canopy. And the song of shadow. The choir of Komorebi.
Inhale...
Exhale...
When I feel complete with this experience, I begin to deepen my breath. I wiggle my fingers and toes, gently roll my shoulders, bringing awareness back to my physical body. I invite you to, as well.
Slowly, I open my eyes. I am now seeing and feeling and thinking with the wisdom of the ancient oak. I've an understanding that I too am a natural being, perfectly attuned to cycles of growth, rest, and renewal. I, too am an ecosystem.
I take a moment to bow in gratitude to this Teacher, this ancient one who has shared its wisdom so generously.
And I thank you for joining me...
Thank you.
Love.
