Remember to return

Around 5:20 this morning, everything in the forest started to wake up. It started with a few birds, and then some more, and then some more. It was a Birdsong Symphony.

Inside the tent I notice the entrance looks like something between a fat tear drop and a plump dumpling.

Freezing rain bounces off the tent, a mild draft contracts the pores and raises the hairs on the back of my hands. It occurs to me, “I am cold and I am fine.”

I follow a guided meditation that focuses on letting go of what you think meditation should be.

In that space I begin to reflect more on the Birdsong — recognizing it not as a subversion but something that has joined my practice for the day. The only adjective I can think of is “nice”. It will recede into the quiet in about 12 hours and then rise again in another 12.

Nature has a rhythm.

There is a special patience within this place that will gladly rest its palms atop your wounds and woes.

When you leave for the city you cannot bring it back. There will only be memories and glimmers of it which, without returning, will fade in to the background once again.

Better return before then.