Late January, Third Week

I have been up so late for so many nights that I slept late when nature gave me a foggy morning. I am glad that I was able to get some needed rest. Although I have never been a morning person, I am surprising myself at the way I have been waking up here naturally even with a modicum of consciousness. But I'm going to bed after midnight, so I never know how long it will take me to move into aliveness. Usually, by the time I’ve showered, eaten breakfast and listened to some bird songs, I start to feel some fluttering in the brain cells.

Later, when I pull myself away from the computer to feed Copper, I find that it is an incredible day. The fog of the morning has lifted and the shadows of the clouds are running across the meadow in narrow dark bands. I can’t resist; I take off chasing one wave after another of the big fluffy streamers. The tiny leaves that make up the green meadow, promising many wild flowers, have started to arouse and expand. Some of the rosettes of green are sending up a spiraling stem toward the light of the sun. My bare feet relish the cool of the cushy green carpet.

I feel so alive. Energy is bubbling up and spilling out of me, expanding and extending me, while at the same time, the trees and earth are plugging in and grounding me. It is so difficult to put the experience into words; I feel like I am revving up and gearing down at the same time.

One of those big black birds (probably a turkey buzzard) is soaring in the sky. I find it so delightful to see a bird just playing in the air streams. The wind is strong enough that it nearly flips him over a couple of times. I dance and whirl in harmony with their playful spirits. I think we make a great threesome.

But I cannot linger because I have some real world tasks to complete—paying some bills—and the editing goes on. Finally, later in the afternoon when I am returning from the mailbox, I can’t resist wandering over to the woods. The forest remains forever splendid noble fresh. The tall stately pines, the spreading shrubs and the tiny sprigs of grasses—all are essential parts of this great wonderful vibrant symphony. I am immediately filled with tiny trickles of energy that leak out of my fingers and toes and connect me with the wonderful green world. My body feels so alive. My teeth start to chatter as the energy washes and swirls through me.

Following the path to a tiny stream that flows into Caney Creek, I discover the water level is higher than my last wading trip, a gift of the recent rain. As I meander down the banks, I startle several groups of mallards that are floating in the deep pools along the way.

Soon I am carrying my shoes, so my feet can enjoy the cool wet sand. The tracks of recent visitors are clearly visible. Raccoon is the most common, but I also spot several deer tracks. However there’s one set of padded paw tracks that I cannot identify. I wonder if they are from my cayot friend whom I used to see in the meadow.

By this time, the world of computers and papers is far away. There have not been enough days like this one recently; I can’t waste this one. As I am heading across the pasture for my sacred spot, I shed my tank top. Today is a day for the magic tree.

As I saunter through the meadow to the old oak tree, I feel the mild winter sun warming up my bare skin. As I had suspected, the recent frosts have nipped the moss and ferns, which wrap the tree trunk, and shriveled them to brown. Yet, I find one big patch that remains totally alive. To reach that green carpet, I have to creep cautiously down the trunk to a major junction of branches. Then I lie back on the soft moss, absorbing the lush green environment.

Tears begin to moisten my eyes as I contemplate the beauty of my magic tree. I am actually resting within the structure of a tree—such a revitalizing experience. My every cell seems to be rejoicing in the atmosphere. Although the tree is totally felled, part of it is definitely still alive. Several of the branches still hold a few clinging leaves. The oak had special significance to the old European cultures. After spending time lying in, and under, trees here—I can understand why.

I just love to space out beneath a tree too. Watching the patterns as the sun plays through the leaves, I feel like I am watching a giant work of art in progress. My favorite tree to lie under is a huge oak that has large craggy branches that twist and turn in an abstract design. Since it is on the east bank of the pond, there’s hardly room for me to lie under it to space out, but I manage.

That night after a simple meal of fresh vegetable juices, I do a rare thing. I go to bed before I am blurry eyed falling down dead unconscious. Surely, I have gone to bed when I still had an ounce of consciousness before, but I honestly can’t remember when.

I have completed my day. I wrote a lot on my India manuscript. I paid my bills. I encountered nature. I have nothing left to give or receive this day. In honor of the occasion, I play a tape of soft music. I feel so pleasant and comfortable being aware of my body nestled in a warm cozy world of soft pillows, green trees and mellow streams. I wouldn't change even a leaf in this wonderful world.

But I simply cannot fall asleep even though I should be sleepy since I have been up reading late for several nights. When I can’t tumble into a slumber immediately, I’ve made up an exercise to help me relax and sleep. First, I imagine that I am lying on a white sandy beach. I feel that I cannot discern where my body ends and the sand begins. I imagine my body as the dust that it is. Then I picture a gentle wave washing in from the ocean and merging with my earthy self. Gently and softly, I release myself to the water of the waves. Rhythmically, the waves come and go and ripple through me, until I expand to become the deep formless ocean.

Usually, I am asleep by that time. If a large piece of my conscious mind still remains, I begin imagining I am riding up the sunbeams that reach down to touch the watery abyss. Becoming the element of fire is another experience entirely. All I can say is that it has more aliveness, yet is even subtler. In this state, you may be asleep or you may be in a wakeful sleep.

Once I shared this technique with an Indian friend who was having difficulty sleeping. He told me that he had heard of this technique before from an Indian guru, although he had never remembered to try it. I’m not surprised; the Indians were geniuses at experiencing different states of consciousness. We can discover so many layers of ourselves when we have the time and energy.