Have you heard the whistle-beat of a woodpecker’s wings overhead? Watched the mist descend upon distant mountaintops?
Come to the woods with me and sit. It is an art as ancient as stone craft, and as forgotten.
To listen. To see. To wait. To be still upon the Earth so long that her inhabitants come to accept you as one with the landscape. To be so long that thrashers forage by your side and spiders creep upon your knee.
Conquer your fear so that you may gaze in wonder upon the elegance of the spider’s two long, brown front legs, stretched before her together in a straight line, twice the length of her body, poised like a dancer before the first beat of music.
Observe in delight the expressive way in which she raises her pointed hindquarters in the air and lowers her body again, dancing to a melody only she hears, signaling in some language you will learn if you only sit in silence long enough.
Expect nothing but what appears directly before you. Accept all that appears directly before you.
Do all this, and you may remember the magic of your ancestors, the magic that has been buried for too long. The magic that will return you to yourself.
It is that simple and that hard.
Come to the woods with me and sit.