Focus
Talk by Chris Farrow-Noble
October
19, 2017
Lighting
the candle,
May
the sun bring you new energy by day,
May
the moon softly restore you by night,
May
the rain wash away your worries,
May
the breeze blow new strength into your being,
May
you walk gently through the world and know its beauty
all
the days of your life.
-Apache
blessing
I’ve
always felt closely connected to the Earth and Nature. My parents
sometimes said, in a half-joking, half-serious way, that Nature was
their religion. In my younger years, my natural highs were in the
middle of nature – camping on the deep pine needles beneath the
pines; hearing the sound of my skis on the dry snow and seeing the
bluest sky between dark greens; or walking a shoreline, hearing the
slip and slide of the water over rocks and sand, feeling content and
peaceful. I chose to spend my precious free time in nature…hiking
and camping in New Zealand, Switzerland, New England. In 2000 I had
the life-changing experience of five weeks in East Africa among the
elephants, leopards, wildebeests, rhinos, hippos, snakes, and 200
types of birds.
In more
recent decades, my connection has been less intense. Now, living in
the city, among buildings, streets, and primarily human-made
structures, I’ve felt more separate from nature. I haven’t
hiked, camped, or skied in years. I long to walk on an open beach,
but instead, my steps take me around beautiful urban blocks with
lovely trees. In the demanding pace of today’s life, I can
sometimes go for days without registering nature around me.
And
now, with the crisis front and center and all around us about the
dangers that our natural world is facing, I am brought, face to face,
with the absolute need to pay close attention to Nature. I’m aware
of melting glaciers and widespread people and animals dealing with
winds, water, hurricanes, and temperature. I am more aware of the
impact of human beings on our tender, fragile yet resilient planet.
In
fact, at this moment, each of the four primary elements is speaking
to us on a global scale: Air and Wind ravaged recently in the form
of Hurricane Edna, Jose, Maria and Orphelia in Ireland and Scotland.
Wildfires continue in Northern California, the Northwest, and
Portugal. Water is presenting itself in many forms – floods from
Hurricane Harvey and Edna, tsunamis, low reservoirs. Earth is
moving significantly in earthquakes and mudslides.
Yet
since 1999 I have had a relationship with the labyrinth, and this
companion has brought me opportunities to experience the web of life
around me. These ancient designs have offered me chances to co-exist
and create with the four elements. As an example, on my field-mown
labyrinth in Maine that Chris and I created in 2005 for our wedding,
I honored the four directions with the four elements, as represented
in some Native American cultures. In the East, I honored Air and
Spirit by placing a double drum for walkers to beat with a wooden
stick. In the South, I honored Fire and placed a cairn of stones to
represent Creativity, inviting people to add their stones. In the
West, I honored Water and placed a blue bowl of fresh water for the
Unknown, inviting walkers to cool themselves and the path with its
moisture. In the North, I honored the Earth and placed a sitting
Buddha on an oak stump with a mat for kneeling. Upon reaching each
of these directions, I often paused, contemplated the element and its
effect on me, asked for guidance or direction, and then walked on,
slowly. I walked often from 2005 to 2014.
Then,
in January 2014, I committed myself to walk a labyrinth every day and
to record my experiences in order to explore this as a spiritual
practice. I had never done anything every day for a year; I didn’t
grow up with a religious practice of praying, meditating or even
attending church regularly.
My
joyful news today is that I have just published my journal of this
year! (Hold it up.) Little did I know that one of the most profound
results of this experiment would involve my relationship with Nature
and the people in my life. I hadn’t felt an ongoing connection to
nature for years. Yet through 2014, I felt a familiar intimate pull
to Nature…to be more closely aware of all that was happening around
me…and inside me…and in relationship to the people of my life.
Let me share a few incidents from my book:
Page
95: “June
12. A low-flying Northern Tarrier Hawk was hunting close to the tips
of the field grasses, dipping down with a slanting dive to hunt for
small birds or mammals. He or she spanned the distance from
MacArthur’s driveway to the far edge near the road. Now another
large bird, perhaps the juvenile Eagle, flew and settled on a high
branch of the highest evergreen at the small cluster of trees or
copse at the corner. It wasn’t there long before it dropped down
behind the tree. Perhaps it too caught sight of some meal. “
Page
102: “June
26. Oh, look! A turtle in our driveway! Turtle came to the
labyrinth walk. Turtle with its earth wisdom and ancient presence.
My neighbor says it is probably a snapping turtle, black shell, no
color, probably a female laying eggs in the sandy driveway. The
turtle moved slowly toward the trees. When I went back outside, she
was nowhere to be
seen. Imagine! Our first big turtle came to our walk.
“
And a
profound learning experience from Nature, my teacher, from October
21st
(page 156)
“Today
is the day that Jake died. Today is the day I found Sparrow on the
deck by the hot tub. I placed it on a large boulder down by Parker
Stream. This is the third time that I’ve found a dead bird on the
day that someone important in my life has died:
• May
19, 2002: I found the nest of dead birds and empty eggs in Lake
Arrowhead on this day when Bette Noble died.
• October
23, 2002: I found a dead bird under the bush near the Bird of
Paradise in front of Mom and Dad’s house on this day when Dad died.
• Today,
October 21: I found a dead sparrow on the back deck on this day when
Jake died.”
I
rediscovered that my connection to Nature was always present, even
when I only saw ordinary insects and plants. Increasingly I felt
these small beings acknowledged my presence:
(Page
107): “July 4:
One of those brilliant neon turquoise insects was on the side of the
blue water bowl in the West. I moved it slightly to help it get out,
and it fell back in. I got it out again, and it hopped immediately
onto my hand. Then it flew to my shoulder and then to my back. I
wasn’t certain where it was, but I kept walking to the Center. It
was on me the whole way to the Center because when I arrived there,
it dropped off onto the rocks. I like to imagine that it chose to
walk the labyrinth with me. “
I
recall this moment vividly. I am grateful that I had slowed down
enough to register it as I experienced it. I can’t know with any
certainty the existence of its awareness of me, but I can share what
happened.
While
walking the outdoor labyrinths in various seasons, I personally felt
the impact of water, wind, cold, warmth, humidity, rain, ice, snow
and the changing of the seasons. I felt the resemblance to walking
the highlands of Scotland in April; I could see the devastation of
the microburst on my mini-ecological sphere of the labyrinth. I
could feel the relief of the snow-laden branches as I shook the extra
weight of snow off. I smiled at the resistance of ice on the bottom
of the bricks when I tried to move them before they had thawed. I
deeply missed the connection between the soles of my feet and the
earth when I had to stay inside and walk a finger labyrinth.
Metaphors abound.
As I
wrote my daily journal entries, I sometimes added a simple Thank
you. Not to any
particular deity or person or god, just a simple expression of thanks
for something from that day. Some examples are “Thank you for the
soft light so I could walk the labyrinth after dark; “Thank you,
dear old Norway maple, for being there when I’m not, and when I
am!” (page 112) “Thank you for this time of walking prayer.”
(page 63)
I have
also sensed a deeper connection to the intricate layers of life and
death, present, past and future, through my nighttime dreams. I have
kept dream journals since 1985 and am always stunned when I
experience people who have died as well as those who are still
living. My mother, Eleanor Dietrich Farrow, died on March 19, 2016;
I have dreamed several times of her since then, as well as my dad,
and other relatives who have died. Dreams can be critical connecting
thread between this life and beyond. Here are two family dreams:
The first is a dream on August 22, 2016, exactly 40 years to the day
after my younger brother Don died. It’s titled “Don.”
Dream
Journal, red flag)“I
am bringing some tray or food to give to people under a tree in the
city. I put it down on the ground and, suddenly, the person who was
there stands up, straight and tall. It is Don! He says, “I was
expecting a representation from you.” He is right beside me, fully
seen – his face, his body. I am so aware that I haven’t seen him
this fully or completely in my dreams. “
The
second is a joyful one of my mother from July 15th
of this year, entitled “Mom
and her Suitcase.” (Dream Journal, yellow flag)
“I
am near Mom when she flops into a large roomy fabric suitcase and
says, “I love this suitcase!” I don’t really see her
face.”
So, in
my youth I chose to be in nature for recreation, inspiration, and
beauty. During my full-time teaching, being single, and co-parenting
time, I spent far less time in nature. In the last 15 years, I have
found connection again through the labyrinth pathways and precious
time with my loving new husband, Chris. Throughout my life, I have
always treasured connection and sustained links with family and
friends in my daytime life and nighttime dreams.
Yet
now, I have a desire to connect at a deeper level with the compelling
call of nature. We are in a crisis. I want to offer my gifts of
writing, singing, and photography. I liken my voice to a stone
thrown into still water with expanding ripples emanating from that
stone. I want to be such a stone, as well as part of the rippling
actions. I want to help inform others of the potentially
catastrophic changes in our natural world. We are interdependent and
influenced by each other’s actions and lack of actions. I want to
be a positive force within a community of people who are taking steps
forward together.
Nature,
like nightmares, is calling to us, screaming at us to pay attention
and take action. I want to “add my voice into the fight,” as
Phil Ochs wrote so profoundly in 1966 in his song, When
I’m Gone.
I’ll
close with two verses from this song. Please join me.
“All
my days won’t be dances of delight when I’m gone
And
the sands will be shifting from my sight when I’m gone
Can’t
add my name into the fight when I’m gone
So
I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.
There’s
no place in this world where I’ll belong when I’m gone
And
I won’t know the right from the wrong when I’m gone
And
you won’t find me singing on this song when I’m gone
So
I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.”
By
Phil Ochs
©
1966 Barricade Music Inc
Rise
Up Singing, page
229.
Thank
you for being here today.
—Chris
Farrow-Noble, October 19, 2017
Link to the worldwide labyrinth locator is: https://labyrinthlocator.com
