The Stillness Is the Medicine

The medicine is Nature

I woke up the other morning with these words in my head. Over and over.

This has been a transformational month and a time of many lessons. I remember hearing the astrologers say that October would be a doozy. Just don’t ask me to remember why. :)

I know that we’re in an eclipse portal right now and that I’ve been sleeping almost twelve hours every night. That means going to bed really early so I’m up in time to see the magic happening over the mountains when the sun comes up.

More importantly, I feel the veil thinning between our “real” world and the Otherworld/Spirit world. It’s evident in my dream life, for sure. But, more and more, during my waking hours, as well.

The other day, when I sat with Gone-Away Pond and dangled my feet in her for the first time, I scanned the water hoping to see a Turtle. Surely there are Turtles in Gone-Away.

The following morning, during my meditation, as I drifted into that liminal space, a little Turtle appeared and told me to prepare to pull back inside my shell.

Which was really interesting, because that’s exactly what this post is sort of about.

By the way, I’m way beyond feeling embarrassed relaying that Turtle spoke to me in a meditation. :)

With everything going on in the world, one thing is for sure.

The judgment police are out in full force.

Pick a side.

No, that’s the wrong side.

Say something.

Don’t say anything if you don’t know what you’re talking about.

For a couple of days, I let myself scroll through, stopping to read what a few people I respect had to say. But the toxicity of the comments, the level of separation, drove me, well, it drove me into the woods.

And, I took my artist self along.

I felt that the best thing I could do for myself and for the situation(s) unfolding would be to keep my own energy as clear as I could so that I wasn’t adding to the collective sorrow, anger, divisiveness, fear, and pain.

These are the words of someone (me) who believes deeply in the power of our energy to affect the world around us.

It’s our energy that is creating a better world or as Charles Eisenstein wrote “The More Beautiful World Our Hearts Know Is Possible.”

I have reached a point in my life where I’m able to have a healthy dose of detachment (especially from fear) when news of a disaster or crisis reaches me.

Our culture tends to think that detachment means you don’t care.

I disagree.

You can remain detached while having deep empathy for all who are suffering.

I believe that I can best serve the collective by staying in my center. In my heart.

Wise woman Heather Ensworth, a clinical psychologist, astrologer, and shamanic practitioner had this to say:

We are energy bodies. We are interconnected with the energies of the earth and the energies around us. We have a responsibility for how we deal with our consciousness, for how we deal with our own energy field, and how coherent or chaotic we are because that is in fact affecting the collective. And I think there is a polarization right now and we can either get caught in that fear which leads us into a lower level of consciousness and impacts the events around us or we can take responsibility for how we’re coming into more coherence and helping co-create a new world together.

This is a critical time for us to be taking our own responsibility for how we are working with our energies and what we’re emanating in the collective.

— Heather Ensworth

I would add, in addition to getting caught in fear, also falling into the trap of righteousness. Says the Sagittarian who knows a thing or two about righteousness, for it is one of our shadows.

And so for the past few weeks, I’ve been going into the woods, connecting with Mother Nature, and learning how to be still.

The stillness is the medicine. The medicine is Nature.

I’ve been parking myself on some rocks on the edge of Gone-Away and trying to empty my mind. It’s really hard, isn’t it?

The stillness helps. The pond is calm unless the wind picks up.

Nature just does her thing.

There’s something about being near water - doesn’t matter if it’s the ocean or a lake or a pond or a trickling stream - I feel my nervous system settle right down.

It’s like a big “ahhhhhh.”

Autumn in New England is, as someone recently said, like living inside of a postcard every day.

I am mesmerized by the trees reflecting in the Pond.

They remind me of the huge Monet paintings I stood in front of back in my museum visiting days.

I have always loved abstraction. Even as a young child.

Someone asked me why I’m not painting what I’m seeing instead of taking photos. Maybe I’ll do both.

The forest floor looks like my painter’s palette from back in the day.

As much as I try to leave my phone at home, and sometimes I do, I am seduced by the camera on my spanking new phone that I resisted buying for the longest time. I turn on Airplane Mode and don’t deny myself the pleasure of the creative rush I get when taking photos.

So many times, I’ve had people tell me just to be in the moment. Put the camera down.

But, when I look through the lens of a camera and see something of beauty, especially when I zoom in and see abstraction, my whole body comes alive. I feel myself holding my breath. My heart beats faster. I vibrate with the creative energy we are all meant to experience way more than we probably do.

It’s the heartbeat of Creativity.

You certainly don’t need to be an artist to feel this, but I have many artist friends who understand what I’m talking about.

Nature and Art are a divine duo and I can’t believe I have the good fortune at this time in my life to experience them together so intimately.

So many of my stories have been born from a photo I’ve taken.

My daughter asked me recently if I missed using my old SLR camera. For a moment, I got nostalgic, remembering the darkroom I had built in our basement back in the day. It was just a closet really, with ventilation. It was the only time in my life I let myself be a bit of a night owl and I would spend hours down there, developing and printing black and white photos, holding my breath in awe while watching the mystery of the images appear before my eyes.

“Where’s mom?”

Feeling the heartbeat of Creativity.

But, while stubbornly hanging onto my phone which had been deemed “obsolete” and was barely functioning, I totally caved when I picked up a new model and took some photos. I’m not sorry.

I have artist friends who caved too.

Yesterday, I brought my backpack with a notebook, pen, and some tea. My pen stopped working so I took that to mean that Gone-Away needed my undivided attention.

The brush had been cleared from the shore and I discovered a set of rocks to sit on where I could dangle my bare feet in the water.

I offered up a beautiful blue crystal I’d slipped in my pocket and when I tossed it in, the ripples seemed to be sending out waves of Earth healing energy to the collective.

Like a prayer.

I turn my face to the sun who made a sudden appearance.

At any time there will be mad suffering and violence in the world.

I am grateful for the truth warriors out there who have the knowledge and strength to speak out. Especially those coming from their hearts. and who are seeking deeper understanding and hope for a more free, just, and peaceful world.

When I head down a path into the woods, I notice that all of my senses are engaged. I need to pay attention to where I’m stepping.

Sometimes, I go barefoot.

“More things are learnt in the woods than in books. Animals, trees, and rocks teach you things not to be heard elsewhere.” St. Bernard (1090-1153) Via “Witch Light” by Susan Fletcher

I say hello to wise old boulders who seem like new friends already.

I hear the brook bubbling, and rushing.

Now the wind.

My eyes are bedazzled by the changing leaves.

And the Ferns - one of the oldest groups of plants on Earth.

I have been smelling a mysterious sweet cinnamony scent for weeks and although the internet disappointed me by saying that Cinnamon ferns don’t smell like Cinnamon, I think they just don’t know.

I take a whiff of one that is damp with dew and she smells like

Cinnamon!

My ears perk up when I hear leaves cascade down to the forest floor.

Chipmunks chatter away.

Crow calls to me.

There are lots of birds still in the woods encircling the Pond.

What a peaceful private place for them to be.

I nibble on some Yarrow and some Dandelion as I walk along the path. I’m as careful not to trample them as I would be a Rose. They are just as important and precious.

And I touch the moss-covered rocks and stumps and roots that are everywhere.

Inspired by Robin Rose Kimmerer’s first book “Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses,” I bought a 10x Coddington Magnifier to get up close and personal.

Holy WOW! There is a whole other world going on!!

This was taken with my fancy new phone camera, not the Coddington, but you get the idea. Pure magic.

Of course, we all give homage and attention to the mighty Maple and Oak trees in autumn. They are like the crown jewels.

This beauty unexpectedly burst into color on the top of my hill near the house. I couldn’t stop staring at her.

When I went over to say hello, I discovered that there were two Maples, not one, joined together making a splash.

It didn’t matter if it was sunny or cloudy or rainy. The colors emanating from them were spectacular.

As I was wandering in the woods, bemoaning the fact that so many of the trees had dropped their leaves, I turned the corner and there they were

Beech trees everywhere - lighting up the forest!

If you live somewhere where you have a cold winter then you probably know the beloved Beech tree. Their leaves look like this now:

But, in the dead of winter, they turn a papery white-gold hue and some of them will cling to the branches until spring.

Those dead, bleached-brown beech and oak leaves rattling in a January wind – but somehow still clinging to their twigs – are symbolic. Like ecological pennants, they announce that beech and oak are not quite finished; and that these species are still works in progress. Northern Woodlands

Beech heralds a time of stepping into our true power as a person of peace and integrity. We are being asked to speak our truth and to use our power wisely.

The word beech is synonymous with “book” and “letter” in the Old English, Germanic and Slavic languages.

Beech forests are mystical and magical places with columns of silvery smooth bark topped by expansive canopies. The light that shines through is tinted green by its leaves. It’s thought that Cathedrals were inspired by the powerful sense of peace and awe that a beech forest provides. — Laural Virtues Wauters

As I wander the woods around me these days, I search for the elusive Quaking Poplar who inspired the name of this newsletter. I have yet to find a mature tree but there are clues of her existence here - a downed branch in the yard, and a few saplings that I’ve stumbled upon while paying attention.

More and more I’m realizing as I approach seventy years old, (or should I say seventy years young) that I’ve been in wonder of Nature since I was a child, even though I lived in cities or on the edge of cities most of my life.

Not long ago I found this book which was written in 1957 and read to me as a little girl, and later read to my own children.

Nature truly is a wonder, and we are a part of it. I hope that you can immerse yourself in it as much as possible.

It’s time to bring this post that Substack keeps suggesting is too long :) to an end. If you’ve made it this far, you are a trooper!

I asked my friend recently how she thinks most people read my newsletter and she said probably on their phone. This made me kind of sad. I don’t like reading on my phone and always use my computer instead.

The reason I got over my fear of reading my posts aloud was so that you wouldn’t have to stare at a screen. But, I hope that you enjoy some of the photos I’ve shared.

In closing:

May we all be safe.

May we all be healthy.

May we all be happy.

May we all be free.

May we all be at peace.

— Buddhist prayer of Loving Kindness

Much Love,
Barbara