Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘nature story’ Category

oakreclining4 It was a normal oak tree as far as oak trees go, except that it curved back like it was reclining before it reached out for the sky.
Devon walked towards the oak tree with focused determination. Her mind was a blaze with conversation. Dialogues she had recently had with people crowded the busy intersection of her mind. New possibilities vied for her attention and all she wanted to do was breathe.
She leaned against the oak tree, bending her back like she was doing a back stand. She gazed up at the sky. If it were an eye it would be the eternal ageless eye of the crone gazing back at her with enduring peace.

oakoverShe toned, unwinding her thoughts, letting them squirm away into the grass and seep into the earth. Devon took a deep breath and on her next exhale the wind kicked up and the sun came out of hiding. The leaves danced high above her and felt comforting. Devon made an effort to hear their song. She imagined it was a lullaby that the crone was singing to her. Devon surrendered to the crone’s constant calm blue eyes, and her dancing leaf song. Rustling notes never sounded so sweet. Devon stretched out her arms imagining they were branches. She reached higher and higher, further and further, stretching her mind to stillness.
oaksun

The sun squeezed through the oak’s branches dripping sunbeams into Devon’s brow and crown. They filled her mind with light that spread its radiance throughout her body, warming her soul. In that moment Devon opened her heart and received deep nurturance from the crone, from the sun, from the wind, from the oak. As she let go deeper still, she could have sworn she heard the old oak sigh. Was it being nurtured too? Devon wondered. The crone sang dancing leaves of joy and Devon joined her. Her song was quiet, reverent. She was at peace.
They stayed there together; Devon and oak, until the sun turned crimson and reddened the sky. If you would have looked at the oak, you would have seen two souls entwined, neither human or tree, but instead a silhouette of love.

And that’s the end of the story.

Copyright © 2015, Vlatka Herzberg, all rights reserved. You may not reproduce materials without permission from Vlatka Herzberg.
Photos © 2015 Vlatka Herzberg

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

GreenManMediumI am reading a blog post called “Einstein and Lanza on Mysterious Perspectives of Consciousness and Love” by Lyn Marsh. I sip my green cardamom tea, savoring the moment; I glance through the glass patio doors into my garden. A retaining wall borders a hillside full of green leafy plants and grasses. A statue of a magical boy peeks through a flowering Rosemary bush with its lavender flowers. Through shards of dead, black peppermint I see a face watching me. He watches me, I observe him.

GreenManRosemaryCUIt is the face of a little green man, but he does not feel little, or small or young, but old, and wise. He has a green nose that ends in an upside down triangle that is curved rather than actually pointy. His eyes are small, round near the bridge of the nose and fan out in a slight downward curve ending in a line pointing to the ears. His furrowed, wild, white brows point in an upward triangle. They are all one, consistent flowing line.

I ponder him while he ponders me. He is a small green man, a nature spirit, a gnome, a guardian of the yard, a guardian of nature and a bridge in consciousness. He is a bridge to nature; ones own nature and the nature of life, or Nature. He is not separate from Nature and he is not separate from me.

I smile, he smiles. I burst out in song. A splash of happiness that ascends into joy passes between us; it passes through the closed sliding glass doors. I am briefly aware of how we are seemingly separated by the sliding glass doors but his thoughts and intentions and feelings reach me as though I am but an arms length away from him.

GreenManBlurThe Green Man watches me. I watch him. My eyes have soft vision. The grass and plants blur into one gigantic sea of energy. The Green Man’s thoughts and my thoughts commune and the boundaries disappear. There is only thought and energy and emotion. There is no separation, only communion and understanding if I am receptive and I am. The Green Man and I are one. I think he came because I was reading about Dr. Lanza, Einstein, consciousness and love, and that is what drew or attracted him to me. It is a moment of high mindedness.

HummingbirdI hear my husband’s deep voice. I snap back to this reality. All at once the Green Man fades into the sea of green and white plants, of here and there, of now and tomorrow. I turn back to him. I still see his eyes watching me as his features fade or merge with a collective of leaves and grasses. And I am thankful and feel hummingbird joy that he came to watch and commune with me this morning and that I was willing to be seen.

Copyright © 2014, Vlatka Herzberg, all rights reserved. You may not reproduce materials without permission from Vlatka Herzberg.
Photos © 2014 Vlatka Herzberg

Read “Einstein and Lanza on Mysterious Perspectives of Consciousness and Love” by Lyn Marsh: http://www.conversationswithanoldone.com/

Read Full Post »

Red Rock Raven, Magik and ManzanitaIt was one of those mornings where I felt the push to get work done. My Corgi Magik who is often a gauge munched on a small branch he found in my collection of rocks. I proceeded to lecture him on how it was important that I work and that I will take him out later. He pouted and looked up at me with those big brown eyes and if he could he would have said, “relax”. I remembered that sometimes when I am frazzled busy that is exactly when I need to go into nature and my place of beauty. So off we trudged into the woods. Walking down the street, a small red rock was on the sidewalk, I picked it up and looked at it more closely. It reminded me of the large Red Rock. I had not intended to go there today, too much to do. I had lectured Magik on how today was going to be a short walk, but I looked at the red rock in my hand and decided to listen. We trudged towards the woods. I was in my head and stomping my feet, moving forward, wanting to get the walk over and done with fast. Just as we climbed the hill I heard Raven’s “cawing.”

There were two of them sitting in a tree, like sentinels, and they were making these “purring” sounds. I hadn’t heard them before. Then they started to make these “popping” sounds also new to me. I watched as they arched slightly backwards to make the low “popping” sound. It’s almost as though their tone or voice dropped lower in order to make the “popping” sound. I was struck by the uniqueness of the vocalization and that they looked like two sentinels on either branch of an oak tree. I stopped to take my camera out, go figure they flew away. “Well I guess I needed to be in the moment with them,” I thought to myself and off we trudged, although my footsteps were a little lighter and my head a little less full.

As we approached the second climb I heard the golden dry grass humming. I wasn’t sure if they were crickets all chirping at once, but something in that steady “hummm” calmed me, it was almost like a chorus of dry golden grass and crickets humming or toning together. The sky was this brilliant blue and the last of my heaviness and mental busy-ness dropped away.

Red Rock Raven, Ravens on Red RockAs we rounded the bend two ravens flew over us, “cawed” and landed on the Red Rock! I was totally awed, and full of wonder and joy! Despite feeling the urge to push myself to work I listened to Magik, listened when I found the smaller red rock, and listened when I saw the ravens. I and others call it listening to the “whispers”. I’m so glad I listened. Magik didn’t notice the ravens and traipsed up to the rock. They flew off, circling above me making that wondrous “purring” sound they made earlier. Gratitude rushed over me! I sat on my usual stone chair on the Red Rock, made myself comfy, got out my aquamarine and started to sing. It was one of those moments where I felt like I stepped out of one world and into another. There was no-one around, the sky seemed electric blue, the golden dry grass sang with me, and the sun and the salamanders seemed to be celebrating, flooding me with passion. Passion for life!

I sang to the forest all mottled with light. I sang to the gnomes who tend the forest, trees and shrubs. I sang to the old woman who tends the woods with such tenderness and care. I sang to them all about the pain in the world, about the violence against women and abuse of children. I sang of regrets and mistakes that I have made. I sang compassion into all the cracks and crevices of the world and my world, to people I remembered, and to those I didn’t know. I sang peaceful blue skies to the places of violence. I sang golden singing grasses to women lost in their pain. I sang raven’s purring to children crying. I sang compassion to eyes watching me. And I sang to the earth gentle as the breeze. Grass “humming”, ravens “purring”, insects “buzzing”, wind “whispering”, ancient tones “droning”. Something deep from within the forest stirred. I could hear her breath. My eyes were seared shut by sunlight, but I could still see the mottled light of the forest. I could hear the flutter of her wings, born anew. Somewhere in the heart of the forest with its mottled light, new life was being born. It was a life filled with the innocence of a deer, and a heart so tender it ached as her wings unfurled and she stepped forth on the earth for the first time. I heard last fall’s leaves cracking under her bare feet. I wondered if they bled? She stepped forth undaunted by the sunlight and caught her breath, the beauty froze her for a moment. Electric blue, golden grass, red rock beauty sang to her, this creature born anew. The wind greeted her, caressed her cheek. She spread out her wings, jumped into the sky and with open arms flew!

I stopped singing and put the aquamarine in my pocket. The wind tousled the golden grasses and the electric blue sky was still there, tangible. Magik came out of his hiding place in the shade and sat, his polite way of begging for a treat. “Not today, you had your treat, we both did.” We got up and headed back home. A shadow of wings flew over me. They were long. The bird was long. But as it flew over me I heard her feathers whisper, “thank you.”

What wildness is born out of our creative play? I would have never known had I not listened to the whispers.

Copyright © 2014, Vlatka Herzberg, all rights reserved. You may not reproduce materials without permission from Vlatka Herzberg.

photos by Vlatka Herzberg

Read Full Post »

vulture sigel 1
It was a brilliant sunny day. The sky was electric Moonstone blue. The trail had just the right amount of moisture so I could smell the pungency of earth. Shadow and light played hide-and-seek through the woods. Magik the Corgi had a perma-grin on, finding extra smelly things to roll into.
We took the long way around to the Red Rock. When we finally arrived someone was already there. It was a woman and four year-old-boy. I was going to just walk by, but Magik did one of his stubborn Corgi antics and wouldn’t budge. Instead he looked at me with that big, silly grin that said “We’re going to the Red Rock, huh? How ’bout it?” So of course he won.

I trudged up the trail behind the happy Corgi, and asked the woman if she wouldn’t mind if we sat at the Red Rock. She said, “Sorry, no English.” We managed to communicate well enough for us to agree to share the space. She offered us some food. I declined, although I’m sure the Corgi would have loved to chow down on granola bars. I looked at various red jasper rocks as I listened to the Aunt and her nephew talk in Italian. There is something lyrical and mysterious listening to the rhythm of a language without knowing its meaning. If you listen intently you start to intuit some of the meaning. It was beautiful to watch Aunt and nephew picnicking on the ground, enjoying nature, each other, and the drooling Corgi. I really wanted to sing and wondered if I should just go ahead or wait. Well as though they read my thoughts they said their good-byes to me and Magik and left.

I took a twin crystal out of my pocket and began to sing into. There are days when I sing when it feels like I’m stumbling, eventually finding my way. Sometimes the song seems like the same one I have been singing for a while, and then other times magic happens, and I’m in the zone.

Today, magic happened, and I felt this utter oneness with the Red Rock, the wind, the sun, and the water. I felt connected to all things and in that oneness I could touch people in the Ukraine, or Afghanistan with my song. I could touch polluted waters, and people I love and care about in different places in the world. I felt not only moved by the Divine, I was singing the Divine, and the Divine was singing me.
vulture sigel 2
The song finished sweetly and completely. I opened my eyes and noticed that there was a group of vultures circling and cresting the air in the forest across from me, and then in an instant they swooped over me, so low I could hear them.They pulled my attention to the electric Moonstone blue sky. I gazed in awe and wonder as 30, 40, maybe 50 vultures danced swirling, and swooping patterns in the sky. There wasn’t a kill! They were flying merely for the joy of it! That was so clear! It was utterly amazing! I felt such wonder. I watched until the patterns of vultures undulated over the hill and back into the Unknown. I was in awe. What an enchanting moment!

A long time ago a shaman told me not to listen to the books or even videos about what certain animal characteristics (totem meanings) were about. He instead suggested to observe animals in nature. I have noticed that often when I sing, actually almost every time, vultures circle above me when there is no kill. I have written stories about vultures twice. They have always felt like boundary dwellers, the guardians between worlds, gatekeepers to the natural world. A sound healer and musician from Peru suggested that vultures are the American version of the condor and therefore can symbolize protection, and transformation and transmutation of energy.

To me, vultures are more than scavengers. Today, I experienced the sacred in them, and am grateful!

Read Full Post »