Yoga and walking

 

I've practised yoga sporadically for years, and regularly for the last few years; and I'm aware I can be a bit of an annoying yoga evangelist. Bear with me though. Breathing is foundational to your yoga practice, particularly common pranayama, regular, deep, in and out through your nose, it under pins everything. I've found developing breath work beneficial way beyond my yoga practice; so much so that most of the time conscious breathing has become my default. It's calming affects have even transformed my walking experience, turning our forest walks into almost moving meditations, nullify the perpetual mental static of my over thinking mind, allowing me more bandwidth to take in the surrounding environmental stimulus and therefore facilitating a deeper connection to the natural world. I recommend everyone has a go at conscious breathing, it's f*cking magical.

Tales from the river bank

Even though I'd already been out walking with Geoff, I had to get out today, it was one of those days. So I made my way out into the forest to meditate for a while. Out to a spot where I knew I'd be alone, a section of Black Water along which I'd never seen another soul. Of course, there are probably dozens of others who think the same way as I do about that section of stream. It turned out to be a strange retreat. Firstly, I'd settled down on the streams exposed gravel, with the water slowly flowing through a greatly reduced channel in front of me, and the gently swaying surrounding canopy casting a wonderful dappled light, I was drifting off when a stone hit loudly on the gravel next to me. It was as if it were thrown from the opposite bank? I stood up and surveyed my surroundings for a few minutes, though could see nor hear anyone. Very strange, I still can't fathom what that was about. Anyway, I settled back down, closed my eyes and began to focus on my breathing, the woodland was quiet and the air still and warm, it was just what was needed, soon I was melting into the woodland and feeling all the better for it. Suddenly I became aware of a dog approaching through the woodland behind me, it sounded almost upon me, having hounds you become attuned to their sounds and this one was snuffling through the undergrowth, a sound I'm familiar with from Geoff (and Norris before him). The only thing is, there was no dog in sight, I got up expecting to see an approaching walker and dog, though nothing. After a couple of minutes scanning, feeling slightly perturbed (although not too much, the forest is a strange place), I led back down and returned to my meditation, soon melting back into the woods again.  A few minutes later the same thing happened, the sound of a snuffling hound right behind me. This time I got up and wandered about for a good look, still nothing, no sight, no sound. Weird. That pretty much curtailed my meditating, I merely sat taking in the woodland, it was suffice, and was disturbed by spectral happening no more. I wonder when things like this happen (and they do more often that you'd think), whether I'm hearing memories held by the land. The woods can be weird, or maybe it's just me. 

Red Rise relax

I sat a while by Red Rise Brook this morning, the forest felt so welcoming and calm. Sitting in a sunny spot, the brook gently babbling as it passed, I relaxed and just breathed, melding into the forest. After carrying out a series of Awens, I basked in those moments of aural clarity you enjoy after performing a mantra. I could hear all the forest, above the babbling brook I could hear a myriad of bird calls, some melodic, some excited, so many songs though, in the enclosure beyond two ponies called urgently to one another, whilst in the distant woodland a woodpecker drilled. What a lovely morning for a meditative wander. Geoff's stopped jumping at me when I'm awen-ing now, which is nice, having a hound excitedly launch themselves at you was somewhat distracting from my meditative pursuits. 

Awen

There are a few quiet spots deep in the woods and away from the well used tracks which traditionally I've used as spots to chill, think or meditate. Places far enough removed from the noises of our modern human world for you to really hear the forest, well, apart from the occasional invasive plane flying overhead. As I've mentioned, although not formally trained (something I'm contemplating changing) I follow a Druidic spiritual path, and have done for over 2 decades. In recent years as our society has continued to take the wrong path, spiralling into a hate filled space for intolerance, racists, bigots and extremists, I've become mired in insecurities and fear, which as Yoda rightly predicted led me to anger, and I've increasingly sought rebalance and solace in my spiritual leanings. I've delved deeper, meditated more, and sought a path through the madness of now. To be honest I've stumbled many times (and continue to stumble), consumed with  anxiety and stalked by the black dog unleashed by insecurity and social marginalization born of government policy and media stigmatization.  Just to sit in these isolated natural places is a refreshing tonic, a blessed relief. In Druidism 'Awen' is the term given to the flow of inspiration, wherever than may originate from, it's used as a chant similarly to the eastern 'Om' in Druid ceremonies, or when meditating. Used to doing it during ritual, for many years I shied away from using it when meditating out alone, cowed by perceived social norms. Not so much now days.  Sat today in the shade of a young tree, by the side of a babbling brook, I slowly chanted the Awen, stretching the three syllables into one extended sound, I did three sets of three.  The sound fills your head and senses, resonating through you, and when you stop, man, it's magical, it's as if you've cleared all the clutter that stifles connection, and you hear the forest and all its life with new clarity. The forest is turned up to 11. You're really connected as we should be, as you're meant to be. Wonderful stuff, and so simple to achieve, a connection which only grows more profound the more you practice. You can feel the weights of modern life ebbing away, a taste of freedom in our increasingly claustrophobic world.