Grounding
Restoring inner balance and peace
“What makes you interesting isn’t what you show; it’s what you’re willing to love without applause”.
A breath and sigh of relief now that the house has been vacated from family visiting. I noticed how tense and stressed my nervous system had become, high-alert sensations had returned from the past. Peaceful solitude was in order, to ground and reconnect.
A perfect autumn day’s weather was forecast. Stars sparkled in the dark sky at five a.m. alongside Venus and Jupiter, their allure filled the heart with awe and wonder as I slowly sipped the freshly brewed coffee. Its delicious scent warms the soul, the rising, swirling steam focusing my attention, the heat from the mug warming the skin on the hands.
All gear is packed up ready for a sunrise walk (I’ve finally been remembering to bring a small notebook with me to jot down thoughts and observations). I slowly amble out in the half-light down the stony track, immersing myself in the dawn chorus (alongside the screeching of the herring gulls on the rooftops). The soft, fuzzy light casts a pink filter over the land and the sound of the waves fill my ears as I reach the coast path. I slowly and intentionally walk along, greeting the horses in their stable, the sheep in their field and the crows in their tree, the familiarity of knowing these things are going to be here filling my soul with happiness.
The fox is in the quarry again. I saw it here once before. It spots me and doesn’t seem impressed that I know it is there. Walking familiar routes adds to my local inner memory bank, deepening the experience. Noticing new things and acquiring more knowledge provides fresh meaning to each new walk on this route. I reach ‘Sunrise Rock’ as I’ve now named it, and take a perch, revelling in the peace and quiet, thankful for it’s strong, grounding presence beneath me. A welcome antidote to the permeated internal chaos. I breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of the sea, diffusing the internal pressure I’ve felt building up. I take some photos, and consider how, even though the photo is beautiful - it’s the sounds of birdsong, waves, the light breeze, the chilly air, it’s all of the senses that make the scene alive and memorable. I slowly savour the hot flask of tea, and save some for further along the walk. A group of about twelve ravens are circling in the sky, seemingly conversing with each other. I’ve never seen ravens do this before, especially not so many of them. They appear to be communing, and showing off their amazing acrobatic skills. One did a barrel roll and several others appeared to free fall, tumbling and twisting in the air. It was so fantastic to watch for at least twenty minutes. Have you ever witnessed ravens doing this? What does it mean?
As the sun rises, the vibrant red rosehips and hawthorn berries glisten in the morning dew. I carefully make my way down the uneven rocky path, and take a look at the abundant patch of ivy flowers. There are an incredible number of pollinators, many more than I’ve ever noticed before. Red admiral butterflies, bees, wasps and hoverflies and probably others too, all enjoying the flowers of the ivy. It’s in the perfect location for the morning light, and the insects are making the most of it. My inner child is enchanted and filled with glee and excitement. I’m completely immersed in the moment, watching the pollinators busy at work.
I make my way down the steps towards the beach. On the way, at the edge of the step, a large, furry brown caterpillar catches my eye. I’m still not sure of the I.D. of it, perhaps Oak Eggar? If anyone knows, please update me! I watch its movements for a while and how it is enjoying eating the decaying leaf. I realise that this is something anyone could easily have missed, but by slowing down and being observant in the environment, how much more you can notice. It makes the walk more interesting and meaningful.
I finish heading down the steps to the little alcove. As usual, no-one is here, so I take full advantage of sitting on the bench and enjoy the solitude. The weather is so lovely that I revel in the bright warm sunshine, the crisp blue skies and the very slight breeze. I bask in the warmth and slowly finish the flask of tea. As I look around me, I notice a sycamore leaf. Its veins are delicately outlined amongst its emerging autumn colours, the energy returning to the tree. The nature of nature. No forcing, it just is.
A man interrupts the blissful moment by throwing large pebbles on the beach. I wonder at why we feel drawn to throw rocks into the sea, what is it that makes us do this? Is it us trying to connect with nature? Is it a way to release emotions? Is it something ancient and primal within us? With the moment disturbed, I leave the hollow of paradise and make my way through the small wood. The floor is now carpeted with dry, crispy leaves which have a satisfying crunch when walked on. A mini autumn wonderland. I don’t spot any fungi, but do forage a few conkers from the horse chestnut trees that flowered so beautifully earlier in the year. The robins seem to be back in full song and fill the air with their lovely sweet songs.
I drop off the bag of litter I’ve collected into the rubbish bin, feeling glad that I remembered to bring a bag, helping to play my small part in caring for this land. I get back home feeling much more like myself again, soul restored, although now feeling very fatigued. There are planned things coming up in the next few months that I know are going to be stressful, but in these quiet moments, by choosing to be fully present, immersing into the environment with all the senses engaged, it allows my mind and nervous system to relax and process underlying emotions.
I wake up feeling tired. I get up anyway and slowly go about the day, the grey, wet weather not particularly inspiring me to get moving. I end up having a nap. My first instinct is to berate myself for being so lazy, however I allow myself to wake up properly, have a drink of water, and slowly do some jobs that I really wanted to get done that day to help with the week ahead (food prep etc). I slowly focus on the tasks at hand. The sun and blue skies have now come out, which lifts my spirits immensely. I’m still not feeling that great, and not feeling very productive, however I decide to journal and write down everything I’ve done so far that day, and it actually is much more than I’d given myself credit for. The feeling passes and I head to the beach for a cold sea swim. It’s low tide, so I head to Chesil beach on the west side, where it is deep water no matter what tide it is. There does seem to be a bit of a swell, so I cautiously enter the water and stay close to the shore, having fun floating back and forth with the ebbing and flowing of the waves. The draw of the waves is strong today, and it does require a lot of focus and strength to get back to shore before the strong wave carries you out again or the next wave hits you. The water is always a reminder to remember that she is the one in control. I end the day feeling much more like myself again, with all inner stress dissolved, so I decide to head out on one of my favourite routes to watch the sunset. The setting light is bright and golden and creates pockets of light and long shadows over the golden grasses. The energy feels softer: temperatures are still warm, but the breeze is cooler. Foliage is now mainly intricate seed heads which are ethereally backlit in the evening light. Without that light, the beauty would appear ordinary, mundane, passed by.
I finally now feel re-balanced and back to my usual self. I enjoy the present moment, being outdoors in one of my favourite locations, sat on my favourite bench which faces directly to the sunset. There are less people around now than the summer, the land becomes quieter and more restful.
As the sun is rising, I sit in the garden and just allow myself to be. I notice the spiders that have made a home. Are spiders territorial? How do they make such long webs in the air without falling? I must look this up. The softer, lower-lying light makes the web strands glisten and shimmer pearlescent. A tiny snail glides along a gladioli leaf, now becoming frayed and slowly decaying. The simple stillness invites a state of flow and a simple rhythm of just being. This is enough.
I love the quote that Sophie S. shared by Maya Angelou: “This is a wonderful day. I have never seen this one before”.
After being around unbalanced people who don’t have inner peace, it was surprising how much their presence affected me - how their energy took away from mine. I’m so grateful for the lessons learned and the personal growth that has brought balance, peace and contentment into my life.
Several project ideas are ruminating in the background. At the moment, they are just that, ideas, however this autumn, maybe I’ll make a start on planning and developing.
If you’ve got this far, thankyou for your time.
And finally, I’ve made several Nature Meditation videos on YouTube which can be found here.
I can really relate. I'm so grateful to have such a beautiful space on my doorstep that I can return to when being around people leaves me feeling ungrounded.
And yes - the crows (I think mine are crows not ravens) have been doing that here too! Only at this time of year. It's quite the spectacle when the sky is suddenly full of them. I've been meaning to look it up and find out what they are up to. I think I might do a piece on crows soon so I'll save it for then.
I recently went on a short hike with another person, and while it was nice to have company, it felt rushed. I can walk fast, but for me, walking and hiking are about being present and enjoying what's around me. I like to stop to look at the plants or watch birds. Sometimes I feel like other people only have the destination in mind. That hike felt a bit like just walking to reach a destination and then heading straight back, rather than pausing to marvel at the nature around me on the way. Because if you never pause, you don't notice those tiny creatures like caterpillars.