How do I write this? When closing my eyes in meditation outside, often the wind or a breeze swirls through and I’ve wondered what it came from. Perhaps it’s our soul — way larger our body — unfurling its giant wings in the act of going aloft to the heavens?
The colors out on the Tuscawilla Preserve are surreal around sunset, esp. with orange rays shining through the moss on these beautiful oak trees. The green trail looks like something out of a movie as it winds beyond the tree. If you follow it, you’ll end up on the edge of a sometimes dried lake with hundreds of birds about, akin to scenes long before humankind’s footprint ever trod here. Close by is an ancient indian burial ground. Whenever I mediate here, I often “hear” drums beating within and a breeze always kicks up, perhaps a sign from our native american brothers that they’re still around in spirit. Chehuntamo!
It looked like a winter morning out on the river when I woke up this morning. I like these quiet moments of majestic stillness that fleetingly dwell between night and day….
As if to remind us that we yet remain souls in between the light and dark of our own humanity.