I push in to a known - that is unknown, as I observe I am observed - forms without eyes eye me without move responding. What was it like before I arrived . . . it was the same but never the same as light and air fondle forms that continually expand and decay.
Growth seems irrepressible while damage and death feed on the living. There is a chaotic stillness and at 8.46 a matrix of variables, it seem so.
Age supersedes era and time overarches epoch. For all its chaos it remains unchanged - order is inherent, while species honour species in this sacred spot. Species stand and lean about me, some lie in unashamed death, unburied, looking lovely in decay. Colour melts and air fluctuates with subtle changes in temperature and speed. I am warm but sense a chill dampness as winter moves aside and leaves behind its signature.
There is an expectancy, a silent waiting for the main event of season . . in my solitude light visits - silently without announcement - shadows and brightness intensify experience, colours intensify and lift the spirit, light reaches out, intermingles, reveals corners previously unnoticed. Light is truly wonderful - ‘Let there be light’ - ‘I am the light ‘- I love the light - every branch and every twig reaches out for light - light is life here.
It is so still just now - tiny movements do occur if I myself am still - being still I see and hear things that passed me by before.
Pheasant, Rook and Dog are here, sound reaches me between the trees although unseen - beyond on this undulating woodland floor that rise and fall in pleasant irregularity, variety that brings interest and surprise - the place is still but is not silent as it whispers to this visitor who sits motionless in thought.
Coffee and fruitcake interrupt my meditative hour.
I come again to submerge myself into this ancient wood, I’m among distant relatives who are not offended by my intrusion, they are just indifferent . . . . I want to know them, or access my consciousness while among them and their tacit obedience - they are patient and humbly live out their lives here without acclaim.
It is a native woodland, broadleaf and unmolested in its development with its virility that shows.
The canopy now is full of noise, Crows + Pigeons who flap and caw live here, this is home and larder. This place is self sustaining + perpetual. It is exquisite in appearance and attitude.
Holly , Birch and Ash live here and moss that wraps and clothes the others, a litter of twigs + leaves discarded leaves take on a multitude of colours.
Barks differ according to species, each to their own, each with a different beauty and while distinct they enjoy a multitude of variables - this being the essence of beauty. How graceful is a trunk or sapling, each adopting an adaptation to site and opportunity which sun and rain affords to each.
The chill is penetrating my double socks, the clammy earth holds winter cold - my feet tell me they are cold as well. The air is around 5deg and I feel it on my face + fingers - I forgo my comfort to be in this wilderness, to play according to its rules and to breathe its air and plant my feet in its clammy earth as I imbibe the wonder of this place.
When I rise from my manufactured stool to leave, what can I take with me.
As a conscious being I expose myself to this natural habitation - trying to hear the silent voices in this solitude. I’ve been still, I’ve been quiet while I looked and listened.
I experienced a profundity with a grandeur my faith recognises as the handiwork of a familiar hand.
More beauty + diversity, more stillness + loveliness.
To cease from seeking
To find in stillness
This wood is here to fulfil its own purpose if I am here or not - when I leave it will continue oblivious to my visit.
I sought in my visit to detach myself from opinion + expectation, to appreciate the morning and in some way understand it.
There is a natural wisdom in this woodland - while it suffers death and decay it lives still according to its deep accord with its own makers hand
NOTE: Thoughts in a March woodland, an experiment in consciousness