Deep Stillness

Today, working in the garden, weeding between the baby pea plants, I once again felt that deep, deep stillness that seems to be at the very Heart of Nature.  Even though the birds were chirping, and the water bubbling its way in the creeks; even though the wind was moving the branches of the trees and the grasses; even though there was movement everywhere, there was still this sense of something so deep, and so quiet – a deep well. A sacred sanctuary.  It felt as though everything was connected to it, as if it gave birth to everything.  It felt like the stillness of a great Mother Womb, from which all life comes.  Often the feeling I get, when this sensation captures my awareness, and flows into me, is that I am in a great Cosmic Nursery, where all is deeply hushed, and you enter with great reverence. As if everything is being nurtured and fed, and all of Life is going about the sacred and deep business of Growing, It is a bit like the sense one gets when watching a baby being breast fed.


At moments such as this, I, too, feel a part of that, but then my attention wanders, and I get back to other business.  Weeding the garden, or whatever else needs to b done.  I wonder if the birds who are singing away stay connected to it, as they too, go about their daily business – getting food, building nests….It seems as if I lose contact with it, though it is always there.  When I stop for a moment, and close my eyes, and feel the wind moving through the world, it is there. Our world of busyness takes us away from it.  Perhaps that is why we feel that deep stillness, often, in those special monks who also grow from this stillness – whose purpose in Life is to stay at One with it. To move in harmony with the swaying of the grasses and the deep rootedness of the trees.  It is a slow depth of being, unhurried…it is something you can sink into – something you can sink your roots into and bring up that unseen, ineffable nourishment, rich, like sap. It’s hard to sink into this place when we, as humans, spend our days running from this thing to that, in a car, encased in metal and horns honking and gas fumes, soccer games, rushing here and there.  We miss the slow, slow silent regard of the forest, of the wind, of that deep Well of Being.


I think, too, we leave this place because we are stuck in our minds, in the past, or in the future, fermenting about this thing or that past concern.  That slow, silent, deep well cares nothing about that.  In fact, it doesn’t even exist there.  It is just the quiet hush of life growing from the deep roots of Itself.

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