Today, I took a quiet walk in my neighborhood, focusing on really noticing all that was around me. The wind was strong, and I watched how trees bent and swayed without breaking. That movement felt like a teaching about flexibility-how staying soft and open helps us survive life's storms.

I also noticed the sun filtering through the clouds: sometimes hidden, other times shining bright. It reminded me that the light is always there, even when I can't see it-just as inner peace or spirit is always available and can be felt again when the mind clears.

I continued walking, slowing my steps to feel the Earth beneath my feet. I felt grounded, connected, part of something greater. It was a simple moment, deeply calming.

My walk was on our street and in my garden, where the tallest tree is an old cottonwood, which has lost all its leaves. I noticed how the oaks still had beautiful, orange and semi-green leaves, and how the sun glistened on them, making their colors even brighter. They moved and were blown about by the wind, many of them falling to the ground with other leaves that had already fallen, and given themselves to the earth. As they decay, and the trees enter the rest phase of their existence, they continue to give new life to the soil and provide shelter to the insects, birds, and squirrels, who will use them to build their nests. I noted that it was Ok to be strong and still, blowing about, or falling and resting.

Since I don't often engage in the creative modality of movement, I decided to act out the dance of the cottonwood by standing in the Qi Gong tree pose. That gave way to movement in a few minutes, where I moved like the limbs on the smaller trees and saplings of our street. The leaves of my hands blowing up, down, around, and then down repeatedly. This gave way to my falling gently to the ground, where I finally came to rest as the fallen autumn leaves have done. I lay there in the yoga asana called the corpse pose. I was still and relaxed, one with all the previous movements. But resurrected by a very worried kitty ^-^ meowing! :-)

This week I am staying in a huge house right on the water in Siesta Key, Florida. I am here working but have been waking up early before work and watching the sunrise over the water. I have found myself practicing some Taichi on the water front with the sunrise. I used to practice Taichi a lot but have not felt the pull towards it until just this week.

It has been absolutely beautiful to be immersed in the sunrise over the waterfront, the golden fire glow, birds flying in the sky, and cool morning air. When I am in this powerful natural environment, doing the gentle movement practice feels so natural and effortless.

It feels truly like something beyond my own self. Something so much more transpersonal. The gentle powerful movements that have been passed down from generation to generation.

I chose to make a necklace with an amber bead that my mom gave me a long time ago, when I was younger. She named me Amber and my last name in German means oak tree. I've held onto this piece for a very long time. I finally felt compelled to make it into a necklace. Making this took a lot of patience. Working with pliers, cutting and making sure both pieces of chain were the same length and making the metal piece that went through the bead and attaching to the choker. I had to research the best way to do this. 

Making this was very healing for me. I never knew what to do with my amber bead, and it meant a lot to me that I received it from my mom. Our relationship from when I was 6 to 22 was very hard. She left often, but she would always give me amber things. We have an amazing relationship now. She's one of my closest friends. Making this required a lot of patience and focus. I found that it quieted my mind.

This was my creative expression, sitting down and finally creating something with my bead. I don't really make jewelry, so it was new for me. I had a lot of fun with this. 

Going on walks, slowing down, appreciating nature all moved me to sit with this creative outlet and making something beautiful from this lovely bead that represents my name and connects me to nature. 

Thank you

Dear All,

What stunning photos, poems, and reflective processes in this creative exercise so far! Transpersonal perspective is evident in both your scholarly work and daily, intentional encounters.

Although I live in Florida where seasons never change I often thin of times I was in Vermont and admiring the colors of the trees an Winter approaches. It gave me a calm feeling and thoughts of the upcoming ski season with my wife and three children. This week's assignments brought back these memories in vivid fashion

I live in the city where I walk in my community almost daily, down the same familiar streets where I see power lines, buildings, and concrete. I moved into the city 2.5 years ago from the country because of an unexplainable urgent need to be here. When I walk down the streets, I feel a vibration from the power lines and buildings, which is disconcerting. I try to protect my energy and ground myself by focusing on the green grass and the trees. After I was living here for a year and was somewhat settled, I received a cancer diagnosis, and found myself minutes away from the cancer hospital. Perhaps my body knew where I needed to be before I did. Now that my treatments are complete and I am moving forward with my life, I am looking for a more suitable home where I can find the peace that I miss dearly. On my walk this week, while I was contemplating this assignment, I saw the dam, which I see every day. I usually notice the concrete and don’t think much more about it. This time, there was a deeper meaning; it reflected my inner world. When I was in the middle of treatments, I can recall holding back emotions at times to get through what I needed to. I remember feeling like there was a tsunami of emotion behind “the dam”. Maybe now is the time to let it go.

I love the ocean. It represents to me a vast and explorative body to gain unlimited experiences. The buoyant movement on a raft, the stillness of low tide, the crashing of waves at high tide are all reflections of life. When I can I love ti sit on the beach alone and meditate. Hearing the waves sooth my mind and it enables me to dive deeper into myself. At times I feel like I am at the bottom of the ocean swimming with the fish and have unlimited air. The ocean is my solace. It is my safe haven. As a kid I used to count the days before we went on vacation to spend two weeks at the beach. We did not have much but rented a cabin and had fun. With my bag packed I had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, potato chips and some water and a crab net. 9am-6pm all day on the beach. I remember that like it was yesterday. Fresh salt air and sun filled the days. Even rainy days we went to the beach. Still to this day I enjoy the simplicity and calmness of the beach. I can think, close my eyes and let my mind wander. Sometimes I do this for hours to reflect on a deeper meaning into my consciousness. Becoming one with this nature is amazing. Here I think of Dr Yifa as well and her interest in reflection.

Near my workplace, there is an extraordinary piece of artwork called "Horse At Water".  The pool has been temporarily drained, and it is surrounded by concrete high-rises and paved streets amidst the hurried footsteps of people.  Even the trees beside the grass have only very small spaces to grow.  I wonder if we can exist as calmly and contentedly as the horse's head? Can we, like the trees, give our all to grow despite limited resources?

The German poet Rainer Maria Rilke puts it this way:-

"How surely gravity's law, 

strong as an ocean current,

takes hold of even the smallest thing

and pulls it toward the heart of the world.

Each thing -

each stone, blossom, child -

is held in place.

Only we, in our arrogance,

push out beyond what we each belong to

for some empty freedom.

If we surrendered

to earth's intelligence

we could rise up rooted, like trees.

Instead we entangle ourselves

in knots of our own making

and struggle, lonely and confused.

So, like children, we begin again

to learn from the things,

because they are in God's heart;

they have never left him.

This is what the things can teach us:

to fall,

patiently to trust our heaviness.

Even a bird has to do that 

before he can fly."

Right, we need to let ourselves fall, feel the gravity, before we can fly.  This is the leap of faith we need.

Week 7A: Creative Exploration: The Teachings in Your Natural Environment

Merging : Poetry of the Senses

I venture into a nearby nook of nature,

Behold this billowing presence of this majestic tree.

The Earth pulls my heels into the ground - rooted in presence.

I am stopped in my tracks – mesmerized.

The sun peering through the branches –

Branches mirroring my nervous system, as it starts to regulate,

Like infinite fractals - Microcosm to macrocosm.

I stand in stillness, listening, observing, tasting through my eyes –

The sounds of nature permeate the pores of my skin- in resonance.

 I listen deeper, the tree speaks to me through vibration –

My body responds, relaxing into the earth presence.

There is so much more to this tree that the eyes can see –

I feel the roots deep beneath the earth – mirroring the roots to my ancestors,

Depths unfathomable – beyond eternity.  

The branches cradle, the sun and the sun illuminates the branches –

who is holding who ?  

Emblazed by the direct rays of light radiating out, touching my heart –

the warmth caressing my face - illuminated inside and out.

My body temple intertwined in the resident frequency of love- curated by nature.

Where does my energetic field end, and where does the tree’s energy field begin? 

Merging one into the other - the sun into my heart –

My heart radiates out the shape of love

 Held, and being held at the same time. The one in the one as in Oneness –

The dance of life continues to mesmerize in the stillness.