Connect Me

I had to go offline for a few weeks, not because I was fasting or anything noble. I just moved and it took an expanse of time to get connected again.

Also, I moved to a place where the trees talk to one another throughout the day and into the night. Sometimes they speak with so much heart that is scares me a little; there is a palpable level of quiet in this neighborhood that feels like something I enter into to as I would walk into another world with a different set of rules for how to behave. The quiet welcomes me and it has become something that I respect, something that protects and nurtures me. I wouldn’t dare disturb the peace, not if I can help it.

I missed being online and connecting with the friends I’ve made all over the world. I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give up the search engines that enable me to explore both micro and macro worlds of infinitely curious phenomenon. But I pray that I spend time every single day listening to the trees and I hope they’ll know how much I love them. I hope that when I communicate with friends, they will hear what I hear and fall in love with wherever they are.

– Robin Wall Kimmerer said it better than I can when she wrote about coming back to our true nature in Braiding Sweetgrass. She said:

“I come here to listen, to nestle in the curve of the roots in a soft hollow of pine needles, to lean my bones against the column of white pine, to turn off the voices in my head until I can hear the voices outside it: the shhh of wind in needles, water trickling over rock, nuthatch tapping, chipmunks digging, beechnut falling, mosquito in my ear and something more–something that is not me, for which we have no language, the wordless being of others in which we are never alone. After the drumbeat of my mother’s heart, this was my first language.”

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