A great amount of heartbreak arose during my health recovery. Through time and reflection, I realize the heartbreak sprouted from a perceived disconnection. I felt disoriented from not being able to directly touch the land and nature as I did my whole life due to three years of chronic illness and isolation.
The natural world was my first love. It’s been a friend, a support and guide throughout the many phases of my life. The Earth patiently waited for me and openly accepted me each time I got distracted by life. I would always come back yearning to connect. The land has been steady, patient and loving.
When my body was severely impacted from bacteria, mold, immune dysregulation and CIRS (Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome), I was forced to go deeper to connect with the energy and spirit of the Earth. Physical contact was not possible. For many months, I could barely get through activities of daily living. Bathing, eating and even sitting up in a chair on a balcony felt like a task too big for my fragile body. I realized how touching plants, sitting on rocks and listening to flowing water are privileged gifts. I took the body for granted.
When too weak to get out of bed, catching the glimpses of changing light through the window or clouds floating by was a source of peace. Listening to bird song on YouTube was a second best to the richness of experiencing bird song outside. Eventually just opening up a window or door to breathe in the crisp, cool morning air was the biggest gift and simplest of joys. I’d breathe in and find myself saying, Thank you, proof of life.
It became clear how important accessing nature spaces is for humans. Many even yearn for direct contact with nature in the process of death, requesting to go outside before passing. Think about that. Folks are not asking for one more opportunity to use their Iphone. They want to use their remaining ability to experience the beauty of the planet. When I felt close to death, I was comforted knowing I was in a beautiful place surrounded by trees and the sound of a river. I remember thinking, If I die here, I am lucky to be surrounded by nature in a beautiful place.
I did not die. I am healing. And I was forced to reckon with the heartbreak of not being able to get outside to touch the earth every morning, not being able to walk barefoot through the park and not being able to sit against a tree and just be for awhile. I experienced immense anger and deep grief. I yearned for my able body, the one who could hike miles into the mountains and be at peace deep within a vast landscape for hours on end without supplements, medicines and supports.
Unexpectedly through the experience of this illness, I realized the power one has to connect with the consciousness of the Earth and land even while bedbound indoors. While it’s certainly preferred and more sensorily provoking to be outside, it is the limited mind which says we must be outside to connect with the Earth. One can come into meditation practice and connect with the elements of Earth, Air, Fire and Water in the body.
The combination of lived experiences on land and elemental practice reminds me how separation is a myth. We are nature. We are made of this land and this planet. On days all I could do was lay in bed, I invited in the consciousness and interconnection of trees, the steadiness of rocks, the cleansing quality of water and the movement of air to support healing. These energies and sensations were my friends when human friends and family couldn’t show up to emotionally support in the deepest phases of illness. These experiences of the Earth were healers. They witnessed and held space for the illness.
Meditation reminds me how the body is my friend. The body is not the enemy trying to limit my experience of life through sickness. The experience of serious illness and recovery is the doorway into the limitlessness of human experience beyond the body. We are deeply connected with land and Earth in all ways, whether outside or inside.
As this body regains strength, I have felt immense joy bringing back parts of nature practice as I knew it pre-CIRS. Simple interactions such as meditating with a rock from Iceland, offering water at my daily altar or creating a bouquet remind me of life. Sitting in a chair to feel the warm, winter sun beaming through the window, watching the hawks playfully enjoy the sky or listening to nature sounds online evoke feelings of contentment, peace, happiness and sometimes joy.
Some days I feel strong enough to sit outside at a park. It feels like being welcomed back by my most loving nonjudgmental friend. You know the one. The one you haven’t seen in a long time, and when you connect, it is like you saw them yesterday.
I may always prefer direct sensory experience with the rich smells, sights, sounds and tastes of the Earth and its beautiful creatures. But I know in my body and heart how the energy and consciousness of nature can be accessed through something more mysterious than I can fully comprehend.
For those experiencing illness and can’t be outdoors, I feel you so deeply. Changes in abilities or different levels of capacity can hurt the heart when the way we connect to the Earth must change. Grieving is important. When you are done weeping, remember the Earth is still holding you. The consciousness of the flowers, animals and plants is available. Meditation and silence is a place where we can access the feelings of love and connection we yearn for through direct contact with the land. Be still. And bring into your life the land and its gifts in ways that are suited to you. Meditation opens us to creativity of mind, and we can bring in the rocks, plants, sounds and energy of the outdoors to support the body in illness or explore how to connect through our awareness. Every breath we take, every meal we eat, every supply we need to get through health recovery comes from the generous offerings of our precious planet. May we all remember to appreciate our blessings and time on the Earth.
Written By: Melanie Joy Pensak
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