It’s Earth Day. Outside my window, the leaves of oaks and maples are unfurling from buds. The air carries fragrance. The cherries and magnolias are in full bloom – an effusion of pink and white regales the streets. Everyday I watch the garden burst forth with shoots of green and petals of vibrant colour. Tiny sprouts have emerged in the starter by my window – kale, carrots, radish, spinach and tomatoes. Life stirs into view.
Not long ago, I was desperate from brightness in the grimness of December. Like many others, the dark passages of winter months can get the best of me. This past winter has been particularly challenging, and for the same reason, most rewarding. I recall one day in December, when rain cloaked the city in a solemn dampness. I walked my dog by the sea wall and was taken by the scene: how winter had completely mastered its time! The dim sky, the cold rain, the misery of the season. . . it was total and absolute. I too felt myself deep in the pit of that darkness, an unsearchable space indifferent to resistance. Yet, how winter was completely itself in the grip of its own darkness. There was neither reserve nor opposition. Winter was most assuredly and most restfully itself. The majesty of its completeness impressed me. I recognized in that cold day a direction that I can grow into. Though the season be dark, I can face it and give myself to it completely. No resistance required. If I gaze into that wintery darkness long enough, I will witness its splendour.
The totality of winter comes to completion in Spring. Indeed, when the blossoms emerge, they do so with verve. Just as winter holds no reserve, spring bursts forth with abandon. There is something flippant and audacious about nature. The cherry trees say to themselves: not only will we burst into frothy pink blossoms, we will make a million of them, and each cluster will look like cotton candy! The sky brightens and grow white in the horizon. The tender leaves glow in the sun. In the colours of spring, I witness my own renewal that includes the dark passages of winter, for there is renewal without the dark decay of winter. The seasons iterate and reiterate the movement of wholeness, from exertion to rest, from motion to repose.
The trappings of modernity keep us riveted to the screen. The other day, I clicked on a YouTube video, a gameplay footage of “The Last of Us.” I was astounded by the graphics, details, and violence. After one video ended, I clicked on another. The game was engrossing, and I was transfixed. However, after an hour of watching, I had to close the laptop an hour and a half after my bedtime. I felt a certain disorientation returning to the room, pulled back into reality, sinking into the mundanity of life. The videos dazzled me, totalized my attention, confiscated my awareness. They exude a gravitational pull that obliterated my centre. I went to bed buzzing with stimulation, but felt no edification. I imagined that if I was a gamer, I too would be spending long hours playing the games, sacrificing sleep and health in the chase for electronic thrills. We can be enthralled by the sensational while our senses starve.
The land, however, offers something else entirely. There is something inexpressible about its wholeness. Lands and waters speak much to those who listen. One must relinquish the chatter of triviality to arrive at their quiet murmurings. The ability to listen is itself the fruit of patient practice and careful cultivation. The ability to sit still, to be quiet, to enjoy what is right under one’s nose, to summon curiosity with fresh eyes. . . these are the gifts that one gives oneself. Through a lifetime of practice, the earth continues to reveal itself through endless wonders. The garden we walk through is a reflection of our mind’s own blossoming.
The restorative power of nature is not complex science. It is not profound insight that therapists dispense for a fee. It is our inheritance as earthlings. To walk through a forest and gaze upon the cedars is to come home. No matter how dazzling our entertainment, no where else is there better rest than the lands and waters. We only need to put down our devices and breathe deeply.