When the World is Hazy

This morning I sat at my dining room table watching the world disappear.

Not exactly. I could still see the trees beyond the window, but the smoke from the Canadian wildfires had settled over everything. The landscape was still there, yet muted. What should have been vibrant looked distant. The beauty hadn’t left. I simply couldn’t see it clearly.

It made me wonder how often that same haze settles over our inner lives.

Not from smoke, but from endless thoughts, distraction and preoccupation.

From rehearsing conversations that haven’t happened. Solving problems that aren’t asking to be solved at this moment. Carrying tomorrow before today has even unfolded.

The landscape of our lives remains beautiful, but our attention becomes clouded.

I know this feeling well.

There have been countless walks where I returned home realizing I couldn’t remember a single thing I had seen. I had exercised my body, but my mind had never left the list it was carrying. The trail had become little more than a backdrop for my thinking.

That realization always left me with a quiet sadness.

Because I wasn’t absent from nature.

I was absent from my inner being.

Years ago, I began changing the way I entered my walks.

Before I leave the house, I pause. I remember where I am. I remember what matters. I think about what might be wanting my attention now.  Not from a task standpoint, instead meaning under the surface.  I intentionally quiet the mental noise that insists it deserves my attention right now.

Then, just before I step onto the trail, I whisper three simple words:

Be. Here. Now.

With emphasis on each of those words, they have become less of a reminder and more of a doorway.

Instead of walking through nature, I begin walking with it. I still myself enough to notice whatever presents itself. 

The difference has been remarkable.

Sometimes I return carrying an insight that meets me precisely where I am. Other days there is no revelation at all, only the quiet gift of feeling grounded, settled, and deeply refreshed.

I’ve come to realize that both are equally valuable.

Presence doesn’t promise profound moments.

It simply makes us available to them.

A few weeks ago I experienced one of those moments that reminds me why this practice matters.

Within less than two minutes, three simple encounters unfolded.

A turtle.

A butterfly.

A fallen leaf.

One right after the other. 

None of them were extraordinary.

Yet because I had entered the walk with openness instead of agenda, each became a gentle companion to something already stirring inside me.

The turtle whispered…. Slowly Deborah. 

The butterfly reflected the quiet work of transformation.

The leaf invited me to open to what was ready to be released.

Nature wasn’t telling me something I didn’t already know.

It was helping me hear what my own soul had been whispering yet I was too focused elsewhere to hear it. 

That, I believe, is one of the quiet miracles of my Sabbatical Walks.

When we quiet the noise that life loves to throw at us, what we need begins to reveal itself.

The world has always been speaking, sometimes it feels like it is shouting. 

The question is whether we’ve made enough space to tune out the world and truly, deeply listen.

Perhaps that’s why I found today’s smoky sky so interesting.

The beauty outside my window hadn’t disappeared.

It was simply hidden behind a haze.

Our own lives are often the same.

Beneath the busyness…

Beneath the striving…

Beneath the constant conversation inside our minds…

Beauty is still there.

Wisdom is still there.

Life is still waiting to meet us.

Sometimes all that is required is a single pause.

A quiet breath.

And three simple words.

Be. Here. Now.

May your strength always be infused with serenity and remember….

Your Soul Belongs In Everything

Deborah