Slowing down has long been an essential part of my spiritual practice–and yet it’s the most challenging. Why? I am an extravert who loves connecting with people. Plus I have an active body/mind which gets revved up by our fast-paced, razzle-dazzle society, which seems intent on keeping me distracted. These formidable conditions make living a quiet, calm, contemplative spiritual life so very difficult. I am often left exhausted and overwhelmed by work, meet-ups, coffees, and events, and tired of trying to cope. A number of years ago, I finally decided that if I am to get closer to God, I would need to make a radical change. I couldn’t afford a sensory deprivation tank (which in any case would take over my living room), I realized a more feasible starting point to still my natural levels of activity–body and brain–was to take some really long, meditative walks by myself.
So in 2017, I left my phone at home, packed a small backpack, and set out on the Camino. That means I walked for several weeks in Spain along the Camino de Santiago, a network of ancient pilgrimage routes across Europe which lead to the tomb of St. James. My first route was a long one, the 500-mile French route. Just last month, I completed the 228-mile Portuguese route.
So I’ve been a long distance walker for several years now, and in my experience it’s the best way for me to slow things down and drop into a place of joy, calmness, and quiet. It also turns on my senses, getting me out of my head and present to my body and heart. The results? Everything seems brighter, everything sounds louder. My taste buds are more sensitive and smells grow more intense. As my senses return to full life, so does a profound sense of serenity. I call this “the moment when I can feel the Holy Spirit.” Mind you, I know the Holy Spirit is always with me, but I just need to strive to create the right set of conditions where I can see and feel it.
So what happens when I can’t walk the distances that put me into that good space – spiritually, physically and emotionally – where gratitude and love emanates from within? What happens when I can’t access that “prayerful” zone? I found out when I had to have emergency knee surgery and was off my feet for 4 months. I was unprepared for the fallout.
First, panic set in, roiling my first two weeks of recovery. I was not only in pain, but my busy brain went into overdrive. To self-soothe, I used social media as my medicine. No surprise, this was followed by depression. I wasn’t interested in doing much. I lost track of time. My world closed in. Without walking, my routine screeched to a halt and my spiritual centeredness evaporated. I forgot who I was … or so I thought.
Thankfully, nature saved me. There is a tree just outside my bedroom window. I hadn’t taken much notice of this tree before–I had stayed too busy to see its beauty and abundance. But during recovery, the tree came alive to me. Had its leaves always been so beautiful, overlapping, creating a shimmering lattice of light and shadows? How is it that its bark was so rough and flaky, making places where insects could squeeze in into its deep crevices? The webs formed by the overlaying branches created a maze for the birds to weave in and out of, as the squirrels catapulted around the top of the tree. Wow. I had a miracle of nature, alive and glorious, standing right next to me and I had never really seen it.
I was deeply moved by this tree, thankful I got to witness all the subtle complexities and changes that occurred over the weeks of my recovery. Every day the tree calmed me down and centered my mind on nature’s richness.
As I began being able to move around, my daily meditation on this tree decreased, because my return to busyness increased. I took some time to thank the tree for sitting with me all these weeks and now that I was back on my feet, then shifted my gaze away. My first day back at work, I found myself hobbling toward my building along a busy sidewalk, while everyone else zipped by. I grew frustrated and embarrassed, and stopped to catch my breath. It was then my eye landed on a lonely red and yellow leaf in the middle of the roadway. This leaf was performing the most beautiful dance, lifting up in the air and gently floating down. Instantly I found myself dropping into a meditative state – my breathing slowed and all the chaos of the busy street blurred. I felt that internal joy, calmness, and quiet. Right then I realized I was going to be able to slow down and feel calm by merely focusing my attention on even the smallest aspect of nature, something alive, something green, even on a busy city street.
Thank you, knee surgery, for adding to my meditative tool box. Now that I am fully recovered, I have returned to my walking routine, but I’ve added a new ritual: a morning sit with my tree.
Jennifer Nahas is Axia's secretary-treasurer.
