Nature Connection as an Intentional Practice

I am a professional nature connection guide. But that doesn’t mean that my relationship with nature is effortless. I have to put the effort in, just like other relationships in my life, making time to reach out,  listen, consider other’s needs. I enjoy spending time with nature, but perversely the completion of short tasks (sending an email, putting another load of washing on, coordinating a meeting) can be more enticing, offering instant gratification and a sense of achievement. So, nature connection is an intentional practice that I make space for, even on the busiest day.

I set my intention, to shift from a task-driven way of thinking to a more meditative and open-ended state of mind, better suited to listening to what nature has to share with me. 

The shift into nature connection is a process.

Whether I am sitting in the garden looking at the cycles of growth and decay in the veg patch, or at my desk working from notes and memory, the task is to keep bringing my attention back to the details of nature. Noticing when my mind has slipped away and inviting it back to notice details in nature. Escorting my attention back to awareness of colours, textures, smells, sounds, seeking out the particular mood and atmosphere of this day.

Inevitably thoughts about tasks begin to clamour for attention, each claiming more urgency than the last, ‘you still haven’t phoned the dentist to book your check up… remember to put last nights leftovers in the freezer because you won’t be home for dinner… that weird pain is still there under your ribs, you need to keep an eye on that… you got a text yesterday when you were rushing to get the bus. You need to answer it now, before you forget’. These thoughts are desperate to pull me back into ‘doing’.

They are like excitable children, crowding round and demanding my attention. With patience I usher them out to play, telling them I need half an hour of peace and quiet, then they’ll get my full attention. I know eventually, these thoughts will dissolve into the background, as if the volume has been turned down. My mind will feel more spacious.

I am trying to tune into the specificity of this, never-to-be-repeated, moment in nature. I begin by closing my eyes and naming sensations as I become aware of them. Bright glow through closed eyelids – sunlight – warmth radiating over my right side – left cheek cold – left ear cold – hair tickling ear – whispering breeze – blackbird singing in distance – shoulders tense – drop shoulders – something pinching under my collar bone – rush of cold wind – tingles on cheeks – sounds of leaves settling as wind drops – breath – my breath flowing in – flowing out – in – out – in – burst of starling chatter and wings – air swirling – in – out – in – thin cries of buzzard -  an ocean of air – in – out – buzzard gliding hundreds of metres above – swish of wind – shadows flickering over closed eyelids - endless sky - galaxies far beyond - in - out

For a while, the act of naming and cataloguing slips away and I am simply a sitting, breathing body washed by a series of sensations. Then a new thought will blow in, ‘that fence needs mending’. I am like a gentle parent, corralling a child towards something that’s good for them. ‘yes it does. Come and sit with me for a minute, snuggle up here, feel the wind on your face’ breathe in – out – in – out, waves of breath, sucking and releasing back into the great ocean of air that surrounds this earth.

More thoughts pop up, and I trust that I will remember them when I need to. If I forget, it’s still OK. Spending time in this way is just as important as the creaking fence.

After a few moments I have more clarity about my internal weather systems.

 If I’m lucky I’ll have a sense of myself as a vast open sky where storms, rainbows, cloudless days and downpours can simply flow through, without churning me up too much.  Often I’ll have some new awareness of a sense of something clogged or stuck, a feeling of tightness of pressure in a corner of my heart, stomach or throat. This used to fill me with fear, worrying about how to fix it, but now I can usually trust that it will tell me what it needs, if I keep listening in this way; a little lie down, arrange to see friends, cancel something I don’t have capacity for, or maybe I need to imagine a gentle kiss on the forehead and the words ‘well done sweetheart’.

The sun, air and birds help me settle, offering a focus for my attention. The breath of the wind brings oxygen released by plants and trees. I breathe out carbon dioxide, the trees breathe it in through their leaves to help them grow. We are all in this together. Living, breathing bodies, sharing this precious moment.