Category: Nature

Dawn—The Sacred Hour

Photograph © 2002 Peggy Kornegger
Photograph © 2002 Peggy Kornegger
Since the beginning of December, I have been drawn to meditate in complete silence for a full hour as the sky is lightening just before dawn. I usually meditate in the early morning each day, but recently, the timing has become very precise. Some inner guidance awakens me while it’s still dark. Sleepily, I walk to the chilly living room and wrap myself in a blanket before sitting in my favorite chair to meditate. The guidance seems very clear that nothing less than an hour will do (sometimes more), and thus I am present for the complete experience of sunrise: darkness to first light to full radiant sun shining. It takes that amount of time for my physical body to settle into the depth of meditation required of me. This is not the one-breath-and-you’re-there process that sometimes is my experience. I am going much, much deeper now, and commitment and patience are necessary.

As I sit through the restlessness of my mind and body, I bring myself repeatedly back to the breath and gradually sink down into the inner stillness and peace of the soul, which always awaits me. It takes a full hour to get there, but “there” is deeper and more expansive than ever before. The breath, slow and steady, carries me to a place where infinite space without boundaries opens up all around me. In fact, there is no “me” really. Instead, there is consciousness, being without form, which has no beginning or end. Separation does not exist. I am aware of my physical body as a transitory container for that infinite beingness. The body is temporary, but consciousness is eternal. I experience this rather than think it.

I open my eyes at this point because I can feel the sun’s rays on my face. As the sun becomes fully visible over the tops of the trees, light fills the sky and illuminates everything. Each tree branch, each drop of water, sparkles and radiates light. Multiple suns are reflected in the window glass; dream-catchers and hanging crystals shimmer and dance. Ordinary objects are magically transformed in the light. I am transformed. Or perhaps the more accurate word is revealed. The soul of all things is revealed, and my eyes, filled with light, see the true nature of everything, which is radiant, sparkling divine light. I understand that we all are that. The details vary and morph into different forms, but our essence, the core essence of all things, is divine light.

As I continue to sit in the silence, an all-encompassing love fills my heart with gratitude and my eyes with tears. Dawn—the sacred hour when divinity and infinity reveal themselves as one in the light, and the soul silently witnesses it all. This is the amazing power and grace of the dawn hour, an unexpected gift of warmth, light, and renewal in the midst of this cold New England winter.

Present-Time Paradise

Photograph © 2012 Peggy Kornegger
Photograph © 2012 Peggy Kornegger
Years ago, Stevie Wonder wrote a song called “Pastime Paradise,” which described people who lived their lives glorifying the past or longing for a different future. We all have that tendency because our society fosters dissatisfaction and discontent. The advertising industry feeds on it, as do our social and political institutions. Yet, the quieter voices that whisper “live in the moment” and “count your blessings” are growing stronger and more widespread. If we shift our focus to the present and look at what we do have instead of what we don’t, life is suddenly full and abundant beyond measure.

Personally, I have no doubt that I live in paradise. I love my life. My partner and I live in an apartment in a two-family home with a yard, front and back. Our small-town neighborhood is friendly and quiet. We like our neighbors, and our landlord is kind and responsive. I have freedom to grow flowers, plants, and bushes in the yard, and this is my greatest joy. I spend hours in my garden every day, sometimes working, sometimes just drinking in the colors and light. Hummingbirds visit the red tubular flowers of the native honeysuckle, goldfinches cluster about the hanging thistle feeder, and butterflies and bees fill the air around the large purple flowers of the butterfly bush. What more could one ask of life than moments like these?

Don’t get me wrong. I have experienced my share of life’s heartaches too—the death of loved ones, the end of relationships, loss of jobs, physical pain, etc. But all of it has been part of life and has brought me to where I am today. If I step back and look at my life as a whole, the miracles outnumber the tragedies, and even the tragedies had hidden miracles within them. Events that I feared all my life such as my parents’ deaths ended up being extraordinary spiritual experiences because I was fully present with them as they transitioned. Losing my job late in my editorial career allowed me to step into the freelance world for a couple of years and then gradually move into full retirement. I now have the time and freedom to write and garden whenever I want instead of squeezing it in on the side.

What I have discovered is that paradise is a state of presence, not an aspiration. I truly believe that I came to this planet to have all the experiences I could possibly pack in and that each one allows me to expand more and more as both a spiritual and a human being. Everything that has occurred has enabled me to become more fully myself, my soul self. And I am grateful for every single bit of it, the tears as well as the laughter. It’s a miracle to just be alive. Really. Look at your physical body—how did that happen? You can’t help but be in awe of the infinite complexity of the tiniest aspect of every part of life. Or at least I am. And I think that’s where we’re all heading. Collectively, we are shifting from suffering to celebration, from dismay to full-hearted appreciation for the gifts each day brings. Paradise is with us, within us—now. It really is.

Standing with the Trees

Photograph © 2006 Peggy Kornegger
Photograph © 2006 Peggy Kornegger

A few weeks ago, millions of Turkish citizens took to the streets in massive demonstrations throughout the country, protesting an increasingly authoritarian government. The event that triggered public outrage: police use of violence against activists who were sitting in trees in Istanbul’s Gezi Park to prevent their being cut down. Government plans to demolish both the trees and the park—in addition to turning nearby Taksim Square into a shopping mall—pushed people to the breaking point. The trees are some of the only ones remaining in the city, and the square is one of the last places for public gatherings.

Many other issues have been on the rise in Turkey, but it was the threat of forced separation from nature and from one another that was the people’s “last straw.” Trees have once again become a symbolic focal point in human awareness. The crowds gathered in Gezi Park and Taksim Square were standing up, not for an abstract environmental cause, but for the quality of their own daily lives. For the right to see green trees outside their door, for the right to meet with their neighbors in a public space not based in consumerism. Those who joined them in the streets throughout Turkey acted with deep human empathy both for their cause and for the physical suffering they endured. These protests continue.

Nearly 16 years ago, Julia Hill Butterfly took a similar stand—and endured helicopter harassment and repeated attempts to break her resolve—when she lived for two years in a 1500-year-old California redwood to prevent it being killed by a lumber company that was clear-cutting the redwood trees. Julia’s selfless actions have influenced countless others, including those who may not even know her name.

These courageous individuals were standing in the deeper truth of their oneness with all living beings, with all life. They were surrendering to a greater Spirit, or Intelligence, within them, which moved them beyond reason, beyond even personal safety, to live their lives fully aligned with the source of life itself. Nothing else mattered. They were not thinking; they were acting from their hearts. And this is the energy that is rising more and more powerfully in the world, infusing us with hope and possibility.

In many spiritual traditions, the tree of life symbolizes the entire cosmos and our place in it. The Maya of Guatemala consider the ceiba tree sacred, and the day Aaj in the Maya calendar stands for trees and abundance. On this day, the Maya pray for harmony and for the resurgence of nature. Their prayers, from their hearts, connect to each action, each word spoken, in their daily lives. We are being called to live similarly now, aligning our heart’s truth with how we are present in the world moment to moment. We each have countless opportunities to be in harmony with something greater than our own individual lives. Can we humans at long last stand within the circle of life instead of outside it?

Julia Hill Butterfly and the people of Turkey inspire me to believe that it is possible. And the trees themselves inspire me. Each day when I look out the window at the tall maple trees in my back yard, I am filled with reassurance that life continues, that just as the trees stand strong and tall, while at the same time bending with the winds of change, we too can do the same.

The Zen of Bird-Watching

Photograph © 2013 Peggy Kornegger
Photograph © 2013 Peggy Kornegger
If you want to develop greater inner patience and be a better listener, become a bird-watcher. If you want to learn how to remain motionless in absolute silence for open-ended periods of time, become a bird-watcher. And, if you long to experience being so centered in present-moment awareness that nothing else exists, become a bird-watcher. Sound kind of Zen-like?

More than 20 years ago, I became a bird-watcher for none of the reasons mentioned above. I loved birds, that’s all. I loved their colors, their songs, their marathon migration flights between South and North America. Everything about them was awe-inspiring. Gradually, however, bird-watching also became a spiritual practice for me. Because my interest in birds developed simultaneously with my interest in meditation, the natural similarities became interwoven in my consciousness. Both meditation and bird-watching involve focus and quiet; they also require awareness and presence. I found that whether I was sitting in meditation at home or walking meditatively outdoors in nature, my inner consciousness and my outer behavior were almost identical.

Over the years, the peace that I feel while meditating or bird-watching has brought with it an underlying joy at being alive. In fact, the distinction between meditation and normal waking consciousness has blurred for me. The practice of centering my awareness in the present moment makes all of life a meditation. And never more so than springtime in Massachusetts, when birds by the thousands fly from the tropics to mate and raise families in North America. Every year, bird-watchers eagerly anticipate the magic of this relatively small window of time when the birds are passing through in a parade of colors and sound. Why the excitement, you may wonder?

Well, to me, their brightly colored spring plumage (reds, oranges, yellows, blues, greens) and their varied spring songs are just plain thrilling to see and hear. One of the first sounds signaling the coming seasonal changes is the ringing-telephone song of the red-winged blackbird (photo above). He lifts and spreads his wings to show off his colorful wing patches when he calls. As migration begins in earnest, the songs of the wood thrush and veery fill the woods with an ethereal flute-like quality that make me feel as if I have been transported to a sacred outdoor chapel. Two of my favorite birds are the orange-and-black Baltimore oriole and the red-and-black scarlet tanager, whose saturated colors often evoke audible gasps from bird-watchers when sunlight hits their feathers. Then there are the tiny warblers, in a class all their own, with an infinite variety of markings, colors, and songs. I especially love the blackburnian warbler, whose throat radiates a deep neon-orange in the sun, and the Canada warbler, whose lemon-yellow chest and throat are accessorized with a delicate black “necklace.”

It’s each bird’s unique beauty that captures my heart and transforms mere watching into something deeper. Meditation, contemplation, Zen peace of mind/spirit—but also more than that. There have been times when a bird has landed on a branch directly in front of me and begun to sing, looking directly at me. A thread of light, of living attention, links bird and human for a moment in time. It is then that I experience that miracle of connection that makes me believe unequivocally in the familial relationship of all beings on Earth.

For the Love of Bees

Photograph © 2012 Peggy Kornegger
Photograph © 2012 Peggy Kornegger
Now that winter is over in New England, and spring bulbs are blooming in my garden, I am filled with sweet anticipation for the coming months of summer flower abundance. My life has increasingly revolved around the change of seasons since I moved to a house with a yard a few years ago. Although I have always filled my apartments with houseplants, I had never really gardened outdoors before. I read up on which flowers and bushes would bring butterflies and birds to the garden and slowly began to learn how to become a “midwife” to plant life.

Soon, butterflies and birds did indeed begin to frequent the flowers and bushes in my yard. Unexpectedly, though, it was the bees that completely stole my heart. I discovered that there were at least 5 or 6 different kinds that visited the flowers, including honeybees and bumblebees. I watched them all and learned more all the time, just by observing their behavior. The evening that I discovered a bumblebee curled up for the night on the petals of one of my zinnias, I fell in love. I felt such tenderness, as if it were my own child.

Over the weeks and months, I found that bumblebees also “slept” on blanket flowers, bachelor buttons, pincushion flowers, sedum, cosmos, and the butterfly bush. Their most interesting bed, however, was the 6-foot-tall Joe Pye weed, which has large clustered fluffy pink blossoms. In the late evening, I would often find 8 or 9 bees on the different levels of flower clusters, snuggled into their own down comforters. When it rained, they would hang beneath the flower clusters, using them as umbrellas while they rested.

In the mornings, if it was cool or damp, the bees would often “sleep in” until the sun warmed the air. Sometimes I would see a bumblebee slowly stretching its legs, one by one, as if limbering up after its night’s immobility. I always wished them good morning and good night, and I believe they were aware of my presence as a “friend,” occasionally buzzing up to my face in greeting. I’ve had butterflies behave in a similar fashion, sometimes even landing on my chest or arm to sit in the sun. It was a beautiful life lesson about the conscious intelligence of all beings.

Bees, which many people hardly notice, provide irreplaceable support to the cycles of life on Earth by pollinating the flowers. The massive deaths of honeybees and bumblebees in recent years have been heartbreaking. The probable cause: pesticides and herbicides used by agribusiness, landscapers, and often homeowners as well. It is my hope that people will begin to understand the wisdom and urgent necessity of gardening and eating organically, for the health of our bodies, our planet, and all the creatures that inhabit it. You only have to fall in love with one flower, one tree, one animal, or one bee to feel the interconnectedness of all life. In one(ness) is the survival of all.

Note: A reader has reminded me that GMOs are another likely culprit in the collapse of bee colonies. Thus the key importance of the current consumer campaign against GMOs in the U.S. For more information, visit: http://www.organicconsumers.org/bees.cfm.