Wonderings--October 25

On the advice of a friend, I took some extra time this morning for a bit of self-care. My friend noticed that I seemed a bit tired and suggested the following action to restore my soul: 

First, leave your cell phone on your desk (check. . . that was easy). 

Second, go around the church to the large side yard opposite the cemetery (not far away and easy to get to). 

Third, find a spot and sit down. I found the stone benches and table under the cover of a large tree. Sighing I sat down and instantly felt the cold of the stone on my legs. 

Finally, listen and observe. 

The air was cool. Closing my eyes, I felt the warmth of the sun on my eyelids and I smiled. Slowly and deliberately I breathed in and out. No thoughts filled my mind, just the gentle ring and falling of my chest; the dryness of the breath coming in cool and out warmer. 

After a few minutes (I think) I began to hear something--popping. It was all around me. I didn't know if I was hearing a bird or squirrel gathering nuts for the winter. But in my heart I knew that my question didn't matter. The gentle popping was coming from around me. Opening my eyes I scanned the trees slowly to see if I could spot a furry-friend who was at work in the trees--nothing. 

The popping continued. 

I looked slowly around to see if the leaves were blowing in a breeze that I couldn't feel on the ground but was present high up in the treetops and therefore knocking something out of the trees--nothing. 

Realizing that something was happening, I closed my eyes and returned to my peaceful state. Breathe in. . . breathe out. . . The popping continued for some time until I reached back for my journal and wanted to document what I was experiencing. And as soon as I did: the popping stopped. 

After writing three sentences, I looked around at the now silent yard before me. Something was different. I sat perfectly still for a long moment. Where was the popping? What had I done? Closing my book and returning it to its place behind me on the table, I closed my eyes and listened. In and out I breathed. . . The popping came back, but this time with company. 

I heard crickets out in the distance and birds chirping around me. The natural symphony began again but this time richer than before. 

When it was time to return home for lunch, I rubbed my knees and stood. Walking away I wondered: how many times do we interrupt a blessing for practicality? What lesson can you learn from my story in the side yard of the church?  

Blessings