Walking Meditation, My Poem

On Saturdays I sometimes go to The Northern Lights Sangha for meditation. One of the meditation sessions is walking meditation in the very lovely original garden at The Findhorn Foundation. I love this slow walking while observing closely the wonderful flowers and birds. There is so much change week to week. A reminder that nothing is permanent and today's intensely yellow flowers will be fading next week only to be replaced by another beautiful colour. This week my mind went back 20 years or so to when I walked slowly with a dear friend through gorgeous parkland. Recovering from an operation my friend could only walk slowly with many pauses. Without realising it I was doing a walking meditation for the first time. The intensity of that day was such that I wrote a poem about it. The poem was called.

MOMENTS

Slowly, slowly we walk. Time to absorb. First past the old Chestnut trees. Pausing we wonder. The white fountain of flowers are examined as never before. Huge with delicate subdivisions topped by red stamens. Beautiful. Glowing against the backdrop of green leaves. We observe the lushness and exceptional greenness of late spring, the result of heavy winter rain.

Slowly, slowly we walk. Onto the ancient parkland. The hot sun drawing the vigorous grass upwards. Buttercups and blue flowers populate the grass. So dense in the middle distance the grass turns blue and yellow. Everything pulsates with, throbs with, life's unseen power. The delicate ethereal blue flowers radiate and channel this most strongly. It penetrates us joyfully. We sit and rest in the extensive shadow of an old oak. We admire the gnarled bark and the light and dark greens of it's sun dappled foliage. Further away a low boughed tree casts shadow of such intense blackness that the sunlit Cow Parsley stands out like a light on a dark night.

Slowly, slowly we walk. Into the woods. Enveloped by coolness we listen to the unbridled joy of birdsong. Undergrowth alive with sound and movement. Two squirrels dance the tango of life around a tree trunk. We look at the Bluebells, their full glory gone. A reminder of the changing changelessness of each perfect moment.

Slowly, slowly we walk. Retracing our steps. Past those wonderful aged oaks. Observers of so many seasons of change and renewal, of rain, sun, wind, and snow. In witness today of us, as we enjoy each other and this perfect moment.