(Through the woods. Photo by Robin. 2006)

Lost

Stand still.
The trees ahead and the bushes beside you
are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
and you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
you are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
where you are. You must let it find you.

David Wagoner, Who Shall Be The Sun?,
Indiana University Press 1978

I love this poem. It’s very meditative to me. I like the idea that “if you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.”

I frequently engage in visualizations during meditation when I’m working on healing myself (body, mind or spirit). My safe spot, so to speak, looks a lot like the photo above. It’s a pine forest, sometimes a redwood forest. Recalling it has become simply a matter of saying “Here.” Whenever I’m tense or afraid or wide awake in the wee hours of the morning, unable to sleep, I can take myself back to this space: Here.

I’ve always thought the woods, especially coniferous forests, are more cathedral than many churches I’ve set foot in. Light from the heavens pours right in through the roof of the trees, flooding the sacred space of earth. There’s no need of stained glass windows, walls, or circles. The sacred and the magical are just… Here.