A solemn moment. Sometimes it feels as if you know me... all your descriptions of being in the woods (minus the deer, which we do not have in Belgium, where I lived) resound so fully, it is both almost spooky and on the other hand, so familiar. We just came in after walking almost an hour on the narrow paths I made years ago in my wooded acre... we heard the boys play volleyball and then we heard the 2 resident owls hoot and then bark. I saw a glimpse of one in the descending sunlight. Blessed weekend John, and thanks for the beautiful memories.
I had a tree like that. I would climb up (probably too far) and hide among the leaves. I felt as one with the birds, like we were connecting. I remember my devastation when that tree was cut down to make room for a garage. I was so sad. I never shared with my parents or family how I sought out these moments of isolation. But the feeling of the experience is as bright in my mind as if it was yesterday. Thank you for reminding me!
Back in the days of childhood, I remembered playing with my friends in the woods and tall grass behind our street. In the long hot days of summer we'd play endlessly.
We always seemed to instictively know when it was close to dinnertime and found our own way home.
I remembered feeling different and yearned for solitude after the banter and chatter of kids having fun. I stayed behind and just lay in the tall grass to watch the clouds drift by, after my friends had gone. It felt wonderful and not scary.
Thank you, John for finding the words to touch something so indescribable.
Maple- Your experience reminds me of the deer scene in the film "Stand By Me." The boy is alone on the railroad tracks when a doe comes out of the woods. And the two of them gaze at each other before the doe wanders off. And the boy doesn't tell his buddies back at the camp. He kept the experience to himself. We need to keep some pieces of beauty to ourselves. Here's the short scene if you want to watch it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9imHz0nBd4
Holy unproductivity. Holiness in the moment itself. Made me think of Psalm 46:10… “Be still and know that I am God.” The stillness is calling us where we can truly know. Even in the midst of the busy moments of life and the whirring of the world. A choice to be still.
Geoff-To your point, there's a reason Carthusian monks, the most austere of all the monastic orders, spend the majority of their lives in silent prayer in their cells. They know that stillness is a doorway bringing them closer to the divine. Thanks for your comment.
Simone Weil is a favorite of mine and I was familiar with Wittgenstein, but I hadn't heard of David Jones. This essay gave me much to think about, as all your writings do!
This holds so much wisdom John...what a joy to read... it resonates with my mornin out shovelling the driveway.. I was cold..my hair was wet...( I was still in my housecoat ..you can do that in the country ..lol ) taking lots of breaks....sitting in the garage... one of my ferals came & sat on my lap for a little rub ... no distractions ..no phones... just a warm cat sitting in my lap and time to catch my breath..... so I can finish the driveway..and I thought..what if I had no warm house to go back into.. no hot coffee to enjoy .. no computer ... homeless... where would my thoughts go then ... I forgot my point ...
I think you made the point quite eloquently, Brenda. You're talking about gratitude, and appreciation for the small moments that make life beautiful. Thanks.
lol.. yes.. but I made it with the intention of how it related to your story..
( at least I thought I did.. but that was a couple hrs ago now )
how what doesn`t last... hold more weight in our hearts... like when we whittle down Life to the very very basic of like a homeless person..... what would we think about... what matters
Yes, that makes sense. I knew a homeless fellow from my policing days. He told me once that he loved camping in a meadow, and the way the late afternoon sun sparkled on the tall grass. So I suppose no matter one’s circumstances, fleeting moments of grace can be found. Thanks for reading.
I got busy yesterday and though very unusual I am reading this Monday morning. The weekend was full of fun activities with family and friends. Before going to bed last night my wife and I were commenting on how the time flew by. Reading this today reminded me whether working, fun, or both the time needed to reflect is a gift. Thanks once again for your truly profound insight.
Looks like you had a wonderful weekend, Dennis. And yes, reflection is a gift. A gift we give ourselves to make sense of our lives and to have gratitude and optimism. Thanks for reading.
Yes, me too, Charlotte. Seems the older I get, the less I tolerate noisy places, crowds, etc. The silence of the garden, my library, or a lake in the morning light go far in restoring my spirit. My equilibrium.
Solitude is a powerful healer especially in nature. Gives one time to reflect, wonder and experience true gratitude. Thanks, John for inspiring us to pause, weep if we need to and look within ourselves. Nature is the greatest healer along with our Creator.
I'm a very social person but I also need considerable time "unpeopling." Alone or at least not in constant conversation. As an author, I find this alone time particularly important. I need time to read, time to write, and time to reflect. Thanks for another great essay on the subject.
Unpeopling is a good term, Mershon. Most of the writers I've met (extroverts and introverts) need downtime to think, write, edit. After that, some seek out the energy of people. And others, like me, take their dog for a walk.
I fell in love with writing in the black walnut tree on the edge of our small property in West Jordan where I grew up. I figured that nature somehow knew me because she'd crafted that tree with a perfect three-branch seat. In summer months, I could sit comfortably for hours in that tree with my thoughts, my notebook, and the sound of the leaves rustling in the almost imperceptible summer breeze.
I stopped writing in before college and didn't take it up again for nearly two decades. Writing is therapy now, and your story today reminded me of that black walnut tree. I haven't lived in that house for more than three decades. My parents sold it after my mother passed and my dad remarried, but that tree still stands on the property.
Aaron, the first sentence you wrote sounds like the opening of a great novel: "I fell in love with writing in the black walnut tree on the edge of our small property in West Jordan where I grew up." Glad you returned to your writing. It can certainly be therapeutic.
A solemn moment. Sometimes it feels as if you know me... all your descriptions of being in the woods (minus the deer, which we do not have in Belgium, where I lived) resound so fully, it is both almost spooky and on the other hand, so familiar. We just came in after walking almost an hour on the narrow paths I made years ago in my wooded acre... we heard the boys play volleyball and then we heard the 2 resident owls hoot and then bark. I saw a glimpse of one in the descending sunlight. Blessed weekend John, and thanks for the beautiful memories.
Ingrid- I suspect a great deal of us share these kinds of sacred moments, when nature gifts us a kind of divine serenity. Thanks for reading.
I had a tree like that. I would climb up (probably too far) and hide among the leaves. I felt as one with the birds, like we were connecting. I remember my devastation when that tree was cut down to make room for a garage. I was so sad. I never shared with my parents or family how I sought out these moments of isolation. But the feeling of the experience is as bright in my mind as if it was yesterday. Thank you for reminding me!
Dawn- Yes, it's so very sad when a beloved tree is felled. It's like the loss of an old friend. I wrote about that in another essay: https://www.weissjournal.com/p/the-rings-we-carry
Thanks for your comment.
Back in the days of childhood, I remembered playing with my friends in the woods and tall grass behind our street. In the long hot days of summer we'd play endlessly.
We always seemed to instictively know when it was close to dinnertime and found our own way home.
I remembered feeling different and yearned for solitude after the banter and chatter of kids having fun. I stayed behind and just lay in the tall grass to watch the clouds drift by, after my friends had gone. It felt wonderful and not scary.
Thank you, John for finding the words to touch something so indescribable.
Maple- Your experience reminds me of the deer scene in the film "Stand By Me." The boy is alone on the railroad tracks when a doe comes out of the woods. And the two of them gaze at each other before the doe wanders off. And the boy doesn't tell his buddies back at the camp. He kept the experience to himself. We need to keep some pieces of beauty to ourselves. Here's the short scene if you want to watch it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9imHz0nBd4
Beautiful. Thank you for taking me back to my childhood friend. I called it “my thinking tree.”
Brandy- What a great name, "My thinking tree." I think mine was a daydream tree.
Your talent really shines through in this writing.
Thanks, Rick, I appreciate that.
Thank you for putting into words what lives in my heart and my soul.
You're welcome, Suz. Thanks for reading.
Holy unproductivity. Holiness in the moment itself. Made me think of Psalm 46:10… “Be still and know that I am God.” The stillness is calling us where we can truly know. Even in the midst of the busy moments of life and the whirring of the world. A choice to be still.
Thanks John. A good word.
Geoff-To your point, there's a reason Carthusian monks, the most austere of all the monastic orders, spend the majority of their lives in silent prayer in their cells. They know that stillness is a doorway bringing them closer to the divine. Thanks for your comment.
Simone Weil is a favorite of mine and I was familiar with Wittgenstein, but I hadn't heard of David Jones. This essay gave me much to think about, as all your writings do!
So many authors, so little time. Thanks for your comment, Brenna.
This holds so much wisdom John...what a joy to read... it resonates with my mornin out shovelling the driveway.. I was cold..my hair was wet...( I was still in my housecoat ..you can do that in the country ..lol ) taking lots of breaks....sitting in the garage... one of my ferals came & sat on my lap for a little rub ... no distractions ..no phones... just a warm cat sitting in my lap and time to catch my breath..... so I can finish the driveway..and I thought..what if I had no warm house to go back into.. no hot coffee to enjoy .. no computer ... homeless... where would my thoughts go then ... I forgot my point ...
I think you made the point quite eloquently, Brenda. You're talking about gratitude, and appreciation for the small moments that make life beautiful. Thanks.
lol.. yes.. but I made it with the intention of how it related to your story..
( at least I thought I did.. but that was a couple hrs ago now )
how what doesn`t last... hold more weight in our hearts... like when we whittle down Life to the very very basic of like a homeless person..... what would we think about... what matters
Yes, that makes sense. I knew a homeless fellow from my policing days. He told me once that he loved camping in a meadow, and the way the late afternoon sun sparkled on the tall grass. So I suppose no matter one’s circumstances, fleeting moments of grace can be found. Thanks for reading.
I just ordered a used copy of Guy Stags book off of eBay, thanks for the recommendation!
Hope you enjoy the book, Scott.
I got busy yesterday and though very unusual I am reading this Monday morning. The weekend was full of fun activities with family and friends. Before going to bed last night my wife and I were commenting on how the time flew by. Reading this today reminded me whether working, fun, or both the time needed to reflect is a gift. Thanks once again for your truly profound insight.
Looks like you had a wonderful weekend, Dennis. And yes, reflection is a gift. A gift we give ourselves to make sense of our lives and to have gratitude and optimism. Thanks for reading.
I take in the strength of silence.
Yes, me too, Charlotte. Seems the older I get, the less I tolerate noisy places, crowds, etc. The silence of the garden, my library, or a lake in the morning light go far in restoring my spirit. My equilibrium.
Solitude is a powerful healer especially in nature. Gives one time to reflect, wonder and experience true gratitude. Thanks, John for inspiring us to pause, weep if we need to and look within ourselves. Nature is the greatest healer along with our Creator.
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Amen, Richard. I agree.
I'm a very social person but I also need considerable time "unpeopling." Alone or at least not in constant conversation. As an author, I find this alone time particularly important. I need time to read, time to write, and time to reflect. Thanks for another great essay on the subject.
Unpeopling is a good term, Mershon. Most of the writers I've met (extroverts and introverts) need downtime to think, write, edit. After that, some seek out the energy of people. And others, like me, take their dog for a walk.
Ding, ding, ding! You nailed it. Thank you!
Many thanks, Brenda, I'll take the dings.
I fell in love with writing in the black walnut tree on the edge of our small property in West Jordan where I grew up. I figured that nature somehow knew me because she'd crafted that tree with a perfect three-branch seat. In summer months, I could sit comfortably for hours in that tree with my thoughts, my notebook, and the sound of the leaves rustling in the almost imperceptible summer breeze.
I stopped writing in before college and didn't take it up again for nearly two decades. Writing is therapy now, and your story today reminded me of that black walnut tree. I haven't lived in that house for more than three decades. My parents sold it after my mother passed and my dad remarried, but that tree still stands on the property.
Aaron, the first sentence you wrote sounds like the opening of a great novel: "I fell in love with writing in the black walnut tree on the edge of our small property in West Jordan where I grew up." Glad you returned to your writing. It can certainly be therapeutic.