By Jesse Wolf Hardin
“. . . I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in
thin air, but to walk on the earth.”
All things happen in a place, in context and relationship, in present time. It is always now and here where we act on our choices, affect the world, and taste its pleasures. The quality of consciously being here for that opportunity and experience is what we call “presence,” but it is certainly not something we can ever take for granted. Every moment is a decisive one, with a choice as to what degree we are either dwelling on our problems... or dwelling in the sense and satisfaction of the actual experience.
Outside our cabin we’ve set up a rudimentary hot-tub, an old cast iron hulk rocked in with a fire pit dug out directly beneath. Those times when the rains overfill our storage, we carry the extra bucketfuls over to it and enjoy the most amazing soaks. But even here, engaged in mindful practice, it remains an effort to stay present. Even with hot water relaxing the muscles and loosening that death-grip of the linear mind, even with steam rising before us as from a great cauldron of creation, and a gentle rain with the effects of an elixir.
Still the words come, betraying the experience. “Wonder how the plug I made is holding up. Cork would have worked if...” (Shhhh!, goes the steam), “Seems hotter than last time” (Hush, the heat is speaking to you!). “So much to do before going to town tomorrow...” (Hey, where are you?), “Should be enough rains to fill another tub or two” (Wake up! You’re missing out on the bath at hand, the feel of the wind evaporating the drops of water on your cheeks, the look in wifely eyes, the incremental melting away of tension from each and every floating muscle).
Before the word “dwell” came to mean “to inhabit,” it meant “to linger.” Thus when eating there is a potential for our consciousness to dwell within a world of taste, as for our beings to linger inside the flavor of each special moment. There is a tendency among people, however, to watch television or talk nonstop at meals.
Other than the first bite, we may consume an entire plateful while barely paying attention to its banquet of sensation, the fine distinctions between spoonfuls of the same entree, the slow sensuous melt of butter fats, the interplay of orgiastic spices. Once the first sample mouthful has met with our approval, we may not take notice of it again for the duration of the meal unless alerted by an unexpected flavor, an incongruous texture or suspicious smell.
When that happens, an element of life is lost to us, just as it is when we give less than our full attention to the fingers of the masseuse kneading our backs, or obsess over the coming day while a glorious sunset lights up the scene around us. One can, in fact, go their entire adult life focused on either anxieties over the future or nostalgia for a long lost childhood of fun and adventure, always a step ahead of or behind the actual experience they are going through.
It’s possible during sexual activity to be so focused on a mental fantasy or titillating memory that one is barely present with the lover they are with, and for a botanist to be so engrossed in analysis that she forgets to delight in the brilliance of common flowers... that she fails to stop and heed the “be here now” clapping of lime green cottonwood leaves.
Small birds nest inside many of the hollow street signs of our cities, their little heads turning to watch every person that hurries by, while it’s usually only the occasional child who notices their peeps and dallies to look and listen. And many of us would likely be in grave danger crossing the road without traffic lights, inured to the sound of vehicles until we hear the alarming screech of braking tires.
Historically, our species started out every bit as present, aware and attentive as the wildest creature. Evolving consciousness made it possible to sense the world beyond our local bodily forms, contemplate the future, and build a culture of collective memories as no other plant or animal has... though not yet at the expense of primal awareness or lived experience.
It was only with the rise of early civilization — and resultant divorce from the natural world — that we as a species began to suffer a disconnection from the messages as well as needs of our aware and intuitive bodies, from our ecological context and responsibilities, and from rewards as much as demands of the always momentous current moment.
I’ve been using the noun “present” to mean the current, fully experienced moment, but the word can also refer to something that we give to somebody. It stems from the Old French “bringing something into someone’s presence,” and the experiencing of present time is indeed a present — a gift — from the Animá, from Spirit, to us. And a gift we pay a high price for ignoring. Both usages of the word originate in the Latin adjective praeséns, “at hand, now, here.” The gift at hand, the gift of conscious life, close enough to touch!
Presence is a combination of noticing and grounding, the opposite of obliviousness and dis-connection. In presence, there is no tolerance for distraction, and no room for denial. It includes being there completely for dangerous or uncomfortable situations, noticing not only the pleasant odors but also any unpleasant but telltale smells. It is literally the place of action and response, where we create and accomplish.
On the other hand, it is not in the imagination so much as in the now, that true ecstasy can be found. It is there we come together with our lover, where the jam meets the tongue. Indeed, bliss is not ignorance, as the old saying claims. Bliss is a gift of living intensely, where each moment unfolds anew, where even the most cherished of memories are wholly experienced in present tense.
The means exist for our return to the now, no matter how distracted or resistant we might be. The doors to the present can be blown open by the unexpected clap of thunder, the tart bite of an orange, a morning’s splash of cold water on our face, the sudden starting or stopping of the evening wind, or the first glimpse of a falcon dropping through the air in pursuit of downtown pigeons. And they can be teased open by a whiff of homemade bread, fresh out of the oven. Relaxed open by the ministrations of massage. Sang open. Danced open. And breathed open, with a sigh. Opened, and entered.
Entering the present we are ourselves penetrated — by every real thing around us, by the weather and the ground, by the people who are with us, by the totality of life. While we may not be able to exist without future considerations and schedules, we would do well to remain aware of the degree to which we default in our engagement with the world around us, neglecting available gifts and lessons.
The present can never fit onto a schedule, for it is both too big and too fleeting for that. Mark the now on your daily planner and it is already gone. The calendar we focus on describes a world that isn’t here yet, which as any child would tell us, pales in comparison to that which is.
With our gradual regaining of sensory attentiveness — of the present — comes a great awakening... to the sense-gathering organs and the sights, sounds, tastes and appeals of the larger world/self around us. To the bone and truth-laden ground below us, the enticing trees and the birds that call from them, the breath of wind that fills us and the smell and color of the fruit on the table. To the clouds that fall as drinking water, to sate an awakened thirst. To the needs and gifts of family, co-workers and friends. To our instincts, calling us to a life of purpose, magic and meaning, in the language of dreams.
It is early Fall as I write this, and already the elk are starting to bugle in the canyon. The high cascading notes sound like the percolation of wild lust, like bravado, excitement and hope. Like the gate keepers’ flourish, announcing our destined return. Like a clarion call.
We are welcomed back no matter how often we may try to leave. Welcomed
here, grounded in authentic self and inspirited place. Welcomed back to
the wild now... and in this ways, welcomed home.
Jesse Wolf Hardin is an acclaimed author and teacher of Animá earth-centered practice. He and his partners offer Shaman and Medicine Woman correspondence courses as well as host retreats, vision quests and internships in their ancient place of power. Contact Animá Wilderness Retreat Center, Box 688, Reserve, NM 87830. Visit: www.animacenter.org
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