When I returned to the garden this afternoon after a particularly good lunch I noticed a few changes. The earth and brick were wet, the pool had been cleared by the heavy rain, and big pink puffy flowers had started to bloom on one of the hedges where the songbirds hide. What was most striking, however, was the jagged stone stump where the sundial used to stand. Whether “time” had been removed by some pointedly destructive force or by some serendipitous mishap I can’t be sure, but the reflections that it invited while I stood alone between the four brick walls today were wonderful and I’m glad they happened.
Nature has a way of blurring the boundaries of time. This can extend to include the weight of structure, of deadlines, and of pressing obligations. Venturing into the natural world suspends personal and societal expectations in precious reprieve. There’s a weightlessness and freedom in becoming immersed in the swell of the natural world where the only thing that matters is being present in and receptive to a single, vital moment. We Earthlodgers often marvel at this phenomenon on our weekend trips. On those rare occasions when we rise early to sleepwalk down to the van waiting well-stocked with bagels and coffee, we get the chance to leave our habitual surroundings and explore campsites, riverbanks, rocky cliffs, and wintery wetlands in invigorated unison. Once there, it’s easy to leave the burden of collegiate responsibility behind–if only for a few hours.
Sometimes, amid the anxiety of surging heedlessly from task to task, we fall victim to numb, auto-pilot productivity. During these busy days, weeks, months, and semesters when we become so overencumbered that we lament a lack of time, perhaps we’re overlooking the solution to our distress. In the garden today, I found relief in allowing that time I so vehemently craved to dissolve away entirely. I remembered a stillness I had neglected, and reinstated it. The natural world asks nothing of us other than an exclusively active consciousness, a quality of being aware and in-tune to the sweet quiet, the simple, and the sublime.
Naked As We Came – Iron and Wine
“Nature has a way of blurring the boundaries of time.”
This is an interesting point for me to think about, because I had always viewed nature as rigidly defined by time. We have annual and perennial flowers that have very defined growth cycles. We have carbon dating that can put an exact time on the genesis of anything. We even have set geological eras that mark the points where nature decided to stop doing one thing and start doing another.
Perhaps a different way of looking at it wouldn’t be that nature has a way of blurring time, but rather that nature doesn’t really care about time. Nature just goes on and on and does it’s thing day in and day out. You know who does care about time?
We do.
Maybe what you’re feeling is that when you surround yourself in nature and try and connect with it during these reflection periods that you begin to not care about time as well. This is seen in 12×12 where Powers just sits by the creek for hours on end just thinking.
When you stop caring about time all those little due dates inside your head begin to feel frivolous, and this is a very refreshing experience. Sublime, you said.
Unfortunately, it appears that we need this auto-piolet productivity to make life smooth for us. It’s all about finding that balance. You and I both struggle with this, I know.