Notes From My Knapsack 7-6-17

Notes From My Knapsack 7-6-17

Jeff Gill

 

 

Slowing down the times

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This is not about a super power, which I would be delighted to have if they existed. Invisibility, mind reading, flying, those would all be cool.

 

What I'm talking about is the ability, which I believe almost any of us has if we choose to develop it, to become mindful on a different level than we usually exercise.

 

The particular practice I have in mind is that of slowing down our perceptions to where we can see what is actually happening right in front of us, but which we often miss because of the speed at which our minds have grown accustomed to working.

 

We've all paused to look at clouds, right? If you stop and settle yourself and have a good solid perspective on the cloud above you, odds are you can detect its movement. Plant your feet and pick a spot, especially with an edge of treeline or a building's roof, and you can see that cloud moving.

 

Once you've adjusted your observation to that level, you can often shift over to the puffs and extrusions of the cloud itself, and see these thousand foot domes and towers rise and topple, surging and collapsing.

 

It's slow, but it's discernable. You can detect it, and it happens all around you, but you generally don't notice it. When you calm yourself, center yourself, and focus, it's right there, amazing to behold.

 

A little closer to home, there's the passage of the sun. If you're just sitting on the porch of an afternoon, there's probably an edge of the house casting a shadow on the driveway or sidewalk or patio. Look at that line of light and darkness, and begin to see it move. Later (or earlier) in the day it's a little more noticeable than around noon, but you can see it even then if you can wait, and watch, and be with the moment.

 

Not long ago I was watching the full moon in the east through binoculars, and there was a high power line in the distance which showed up clearly against the white and grey of the lunar surface. Keeping my focus, I could see the moon rise up and pass along behind the dark, narrow line, a steady stately pace.

 

It took me back to a year or so ago when I sat with others at the Octagon Earthworks (FYI, the next open house day there is Monday, July 31) and watched the moon set, late enough at night that you could see it after sunset coming down to the horizon, the long arc of its orbit intersecting with the straight line of earthen embankment just as designed 2,000 some years ago. I felt a connection with the builders, and with the cosmos, as I got in tune with that movement.

 

And just the other day, I watched patiently as a sprig of rosemary, a new leaf, unfurled bit by bit. It moved, and I moved with it in the stillness.

 

This column, in closing, is also a tribute to someone I had this conversation with a few years ago, who died last week: National Park Service ranger and earthworks aficionado and delightful human being, Bruce Lombardo. Someone I watched the sun set with many times. Godspeed, Bruce!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he thinks you can see these things, too! Tell him how your experiments in awareness go at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.