Remember that stream that Peaches was trying to reach – was it only a week ago? Maybe two. And yes, she’s incredulous.
Spring. A time to be outdoors. Just being. Aaaaaaah.
As I was strolling through the rainy woods today – blessing the rain for keeping most others away – I loved that feeling of BEING in the woods. Not trudging with heavy boots, or sliding on the icy snow, but just walking. With relaxation. Me, a human being.
And it brought to mind reading that I had done lately about the way that Potowami, a Native American language, differs from ours. In particular how there are no nouns. What we describe as an object, for example, a tree or stream or… rain, in their language, is a verb. It’s “being a tree”. Or, in the case of the stream: “being the stream”.
With that sense of the trees being. The stream being. The rain being. Everything felt different. It felt fluid. More alive. I felt like I was part of a larger experience, not separate from it. I felt included. And inclusive.
It also felt very alive. The tree is being. It’s almost as if I could feel it’s slow pulse. And the stream being? Wildly present and shifting and alive after being held hostage all winter. And the rain. Today, being part of the woods experience: one minute pressing down and the next, just barely kissing my skin. And being eagerly absorbed by the earth, dark and soft now. And I’m breathing all this in. All this being around me.
It’s all so natural. Accepting the being. The being of the trees and stream and rain. The way a young child accepts the world as being.
To being among beings.