10.17.14 As We Grow Older, We Remember

Sometimes when we wake or step outside or simply look outside, or set off on a walk; or venture off purposefully, we each are so acclimated to where we live : desert or mountains or city or small town or flatlands or hills and valleys, ocean or river or creek or vast fields or forest or cityscape: lush growth or dry lands- that we forget how unique our own place is. 

The place that we live. The place where we have, unbeknownst to us, slithered down deep and lasting roots, so that we become nourished, connected, part of the whole, in this place.

The place that, because we have become known by it, mutually knowing it also, orients us to the phases. In our lifetimes. In the seasons. In the Earth's evolutionary path.

Some of us have moved so many times that when we open our eyes in the morning, or see a painting in a museum or gallery that we love imagining in our front hall, it takes us a few moments to remember ....where exactly it is that we do live. In fact, what it looks like, and where it is situated. Myself, this is true. With good reason. Over 30 places.  

Others of us have lived in the same home or apartments for so many years we can't even remember.  

And some of us live in the homes of our families, which might mean that we have lived there for what we would consider forever. 

Just think of that. For a moment. Both the familiarity, and the vast accumulation of objects. And then the ability or inability to leave. And find a new place, fresh for ourselves. Devoid of the past, be it good or not. 

And yet, somehow people experience being embraced as solace : this very past.

To many of us, the relationship between where we live, and ourselves - has the same dynamic as physicists and native peoples have known exists between the observer and the observed .
Both change. 

Each responds WITH the other. 

There is a responsive relationship there. A knowing. Nothing is static. Nothing remains the same.  

Thus, we realize this occurs between us and where we call home. We impact each other. Each unto each. 

A sense of place is not only how well you know the small gathering of trees and brush that's around your neighborhood gas station. The plants that tend to grow around your porch or your back door. The small bit of woods behind your house that every now and again you stroll through, no matter the weather. 

Or possibly, places you drive-by, and then hear a small voice inside of you, urging you to pull over. Get out. Walk a bit, hands in pockets. 

Listening. Smelling. Noticing what is different today, and what is the same.
As your microbes and your dander and the cells on your hands as you brush them together, and the bacteria that the wind sweeps off of your forehead and sends down into the field below, 

All becomes part of an interaction. That you know not. But does exist. A relationship.  

As we grow older, we remember something we knew when we are young.
And that is that the more aware we are, the more intention we bring to be aware of something, the more depth and breadth the relationship between us and that thing develops. 

Richer. More responsive. Deeper complexity. That's all it take. A sense of knowing. Of not being alone, ever. Because we're not. Ever. 

All it takes is for us to stop, listen, and feel the air, or the rain, or smell ; stop and feel. 

There is a consciousness, waiting there, for us. To awaken. To notice. To open our eyes once again, and become aware.

It's simply remembering what we are born with. Our instincts. The structures of our DNA. What our ancestors simply knew, without studying or reading or asking.