listening to trees in the sanctuary
"Trees
are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how
to listen to them, can learn the truth." ~ Herman Hesse
She loved to study the blanket of clouds resting in between branches of trees. Wondering how the blinding brightness of cloud would take a rest before dancing through more patches of sky blue.. would occupy long stretches of her mental gymnastics.
Sometimes, she would listen intently to how different trees would sing varying songs. A northeasterly wind through low pines chants haunting melodies, while the soft baby green beginnings of willow branches sing sacred whispers. Dogwoods inhabit soft feminine ruffling melodies.
At times she would try to sing with each tree as a way to resonate with their very essence. Usually, she just listened, cross legged upon the pine needled forest floor. When the wind died down, she might take that as a sign to lie down, and patiently wait for the next upsurge of a new born wind from another direction.
But most importantly, the trees, and the commingling wind reminded her to slow down, and to listen; to practice stillness and deep listening. She learned to listen to her own breath. Her busied thoughts naturally would quiet down when she continued to practice her own style of listening to the music of the trees.
~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '16
She loved to study the blanket of clouds resting in between branches of trees. Wondering how the blinding brightness of cloud would take a rest before dancing through more patches of sky blue.. would occupy long stretches of her mental gymnastics.
Sometimes, she would listen intently to how different trees would sing varying songs. A northeasterly wind through low pines chants haunting melodies, while the soft baby green beginnings of willow branches sing sacred whispers. Dogwoods inhabit soft feminine ruffling melodies.
At times she would try to sing with each tree as a way to resonate with their very essence. Usually, she just listened, cross legged upon the pine needled forest floor. When the wind died down, she might take that as a sign to lie down, and patiently wait for the next upsurge of a new born wind from another direction.
But most importantly, the trees, and the commingling wind reminded her to slow down, and to listen; to practice stillness and deep listening. She learned to listen to her own breath. Her busied thoughts naturally would quiet down when she continued to practice her own style of listening to the music of the trees.
~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '16
Comments
Post a Comment