Finding Solace in the Whispering of the Soul
Now that I am aware, I notice how the trees whisper to one another in the summer breeze.
For the last few months, I’ve developed a mindfulness practice. In my day job, I’m a teacher working in a trauma informed special school. Wellbeing is as important as education, and this is filtered down to the staff as well. Or as much as can be. Truth be told, I’ve had worse bosses, and worse jobs too. Teaching is stressful. It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that you never get to the end of your to-do list. There’s always something to do, always something to stress and fret over. New work, new jobs, never an end. That’s why a lot of teachers leave the profession. Anyway, our head teacher introduced mindfulness sessions for the staff, and I was part of the first group, set for an eight-week mindfulness course.
Now that I am aware, I see the flowering grasses, reaching up like the canopies of trees, green, gold and purple hued in the light of the rising sun, a microcosm of great and ancient forests.
I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some grumbling between us staff. Of how busy we were, too much to do, and besides, what difference would it make in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps my time working in retail had jaded my outlook. I worked in a chain bookshop (people always have so many romantic ideas about what it must be like working in a bookshop or think it’s going to be like the show Black Books. For the chain discount store, it isn’t). Whenever capitalism thinks something is big business, it gets dragged out to death. We’d stock so many mindfulness colouring books, mindfulness puzzle books, mindfulness games, mindfulness puzzles. Stick the word mindfulness in front of something and we’d sell it. We were sick of the sight of them. Sick of mindfulness as the latest buzzword. Sick of selling shit. And so, when we got started in the course, I was surprised.
Now that I am aware, I hear the birdsong from all around, not as a noise or general sound, but the distinct call of different species; the strong melody of the blackbird and the lusty song of the robin; the staccato beat of the magpie and the chatter of the sparrows; a glorious symphony of sound ushering in the evening.
I guess, in part, my surprise at the practice came from my own misunderstandings of what it is. Perhaps I’d written mindfulness off as a new age, one dimensional, quasi spiritual practice. I know, very judgmental indeed. Of course, practice is none of those things. Was it helpful that my teacher is a former neuroscientist? Perhaps. It’s certainly helpful to have a practice rooted in the understanding of our human brains, and the animal parts of it and ourselves. And it has allowed me to draw many parallels with some of the practices that inform and make up my own witchcraft practice and pagan beliefs. It has reinforced my understanding of us being as much a part of the natural world as anything else. As the song suggests, we are indeed nothing but mammals. Anyhow, the eight weeks ended, and I have carried on the simple art of noticing, of being aware, of feeling.
Now that I am aware, I can feel the grass beneath my bare feet and the ripe cherries, fallen to the ground, that burst beneath my tread; beneath it all, the solid, dry earth, sun warmed but cooling as the setting sun fades.
And yet, it seems so weird to be here, talking about mindfulness, the act of being in the moment. In this present moment, wars wage and people suffer, and so many of us feel hopeless and helpless. It seems frivolous to connect with this moment in an uplifting way. But it isn’t. I read today a piece of writing from my southern philosopher friend, and it seemed to sum up my feelings about current affairs in a way I hadn’t been able to. It discussed the importance of a ‘passionate and defiant yes-saying of life’ and, for me, mindfulness has offered a way of doing that. Of not trying to fix anything but instead offering a way of noticing the comings and goings of the everyday and how they manifest in the moment and within ourselves. Of being gentle with the self. Of tuning into feelings, whatever those feelings may be, an antithesis to the numbness inspired by doom-scrolling, twenty-four hour news, the hopelessness of world events and the helplessness they inspire.
The act of feeling and quietly noticing and acknowledging is something of an act of resistance, of saying yes to living and life. Of feeling connected to the land. Of feeling alive from our place within the land and as part of it. Of finding solace in the whisperings of our own souls.
Now that I am aware, the whispering of the trees is the blood rushing through my veins, the beat of the earth my own heart. Now I am aware.
Emma Kathryn
Emma Kathryn, practises traditional British witchcraft, Vodou and Obeah, a mixture representing her heritage. She lives in the sticks with her family where she reads tarot, practises witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.
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