The Holy Forest - November 2022

The Holy Forest

I feel the damp movement of ancient rivers below my feet, I feel their rumble and lapping, rivers long gone but energetically surging, cutting through stones of lost ideas, their waters given to creatures and frogs and lichen and the sky itself, I feel the movement of the seasons below my feet, the heat of summer and the frost of spring, I feel the quiet solitude of snow-covered mountains and autumnal sheets of rain, the large plops of water jumping from this leaf to the next, going home to these ancient rivers, the floods, the droughts, the soft surrender in their holy rest.  

There is a pulse here deep in this forest, a resonance, a hum, my heart begins to find its way into this holy rhythm, dancing with the hum, the vibration, that holy thump of life, persistent and infinite, from my body to the earth, to the sky, to the stars and galaxies, this hum, this spin, this holy dance, a thousand cellos, a thousand violins, a thousand choral voices, all here, if they ever were, in that holy rave.

I stand, eyes closed, within me this orchestra, this cacophony of life, this Om, this spin, the effulgence of energy and life, this holy forest dancing in my being, the singing fir needles, wild, primal, a fertile ecosystem, the Soul’s holy terrain. I stay as long as I can until the sky goes black and the stars, first one, and then another, show their love for the night, and they come together like lovers in a slow dance moving to the music that, only if you listen deeply, you can hear. 

I wait until I feel the earth exhale her last bit of the day’s sunlight and she slips into slumber, her breath like the beat of an owl’s wings, soft, powerful, deep, and then just fading into the darkness. My breath becomes the beat of an owl’s wings, slow and deep, my feet like winding roots, the waters of my body moving like an ancient underground river, and I am this holy forest.   -Kate

We are making our way into the final curve of the year, as I write this there are 45 days left in 2022, 45 days to shape, hold, and for memory making.   Thanksgiving gives us all a momentary pause, a well-deserved exhale, a day to reflect and dialogue with what makes our hearts sing.  To ask ourselves what are we grateful for?  

For some, it will be about gathering and loudness, meal making, family and friends, for others it is silent retreats or quiet contemplative hikes, walks, leaf-kicking expeditions, or forest bathing,  a time for calling in gratitude for the faces and the non-faces, the manifest and unmanifest, the whole, the holy rave of life.

May your day be filled and overflowing with the hum of life, the sound, and vibration of life, and the hum of gratitude for things that make your heart sing.  

For me, I am grateful beyond measure for the treasures of my life, my family, my soul friends, my gurus, and my students.  If you are reading this, I mean you.  Thank you, I am grateful for you, for our connection, for your openness, curiosity, and support. I am grateful for the ways you show up in your practices and in your life for yourself and for others.  May the final curve of 2022 bless and love you in amazing ways and may we grow, move, and love with constant and steady awareness.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Reflections

• Gently close your eyes.  Become exquisitely still.  Visit the inner forest of your being as if you are trying not to disturb the quiet full hum of life around you. Take ten slow breaths being as quiet as possible.
• Now notice your body temperature, are you warm are you cold, are you just right?  How does the air around you feel?  Is there stillness and calm, is there a breeze?  Are you in the forest or are you and the forest one?  Where do you end?  Where does the forest begin?
• Imagine the forest begins in your heart, within your heart is this tender ecosystem that supports, grows, and digests the old to nourish the new.  Sit quietly in the Holy Forest of your being.
• In the most ancient forest of your being ask yourself what needs to be digested to provide nourishment for new growth.