Ground Yourself and Find Wonder, Right Now

A Quick Observational Meditation to Ground Yourself and Find Wonder, Right Now.

The practice of meditation trains our attention and awareness. An observational meditation like this, where you focus on an object, can sometimes be a more gentle approach if you find it difficult to sit in quiet contemplation with your eyes closed, and it suits today's practice on sight, perfectly.

Let’s go macro, then micro. Stand in your yard, where you are wandering at the moment, or look out your window. What do you see?

Describe it as quickly as you can - write it down, or purposefully think the words you would otherwise write if you are out wandering. Use broad stroke words. Describe, almost matter of factly, the plants or buildings or landscape that you see - hills, large trees, small shrubs, the sea, sand, fields. The basic shapes you see, how much of your frame of vision they take up. The basics first.

Then break that down further into colours, shapes, hues even. Describe everything you see - you are being completely present now, really looking. Go into as much detail as you dare - again, you can write this down, or just notice it in silent contemplation. Description is an act of honouring, you are really seeing what is in front of you. It is an act of reciprocity, you are intentionally interacting with the world around you, finding your place in it.

Then look for a tiny piece of magic, something you would not have seen if you hadn’t been paying attention. This will probably be in the details, or perhaps just observing this scene is magic enough. Be utterly present. Remember to breathe. Take your time, allow your observations to follow your vision, try not to forcibly ‘look’, allow your mind and heart to guide your observation slowly. Don’t let your attention wander - come back to what you are seeing, describe it, describe it, describe it.

How did that make you feel? Is there anything to add? Was there anything else that this process brought up?

For example, as I write this I am looking out my studio window. I see:

a shrub, a small tree, the fence, my neighbours roof, the sky (broad strokes).

I see half of my view is taken up with a dark green, fully leafed murraya shrub. The shrub is planted right against the window and provides my studio with shade from the north facing window. I am in the shrub, essentially - her leaves are in shadow to me, I can see all of her internal structure, the thicker main branches coming off the trunk, the smaller branches then the leaf covered tips. The leaves are the classic ‘leaf’ shape, a little lighter on the underside, dark forest green on top. The sun still shines through but is dappled and a little green tinged. The top of the shrub is trimmed to prevent it hitting the gutter, and there is new growth there, almost fluorescent green, reaching to the sun.

To the left of that view, the small tree is the lemon scented tea tree. She grows up against the fence, and is twiggy, scrubby looking. Tiny pointed leaves are now scattered with tiny white flowers. There is a small branch that has broken, and it hangs all twiggy, skeletal. There is the dark brown roof tiles of my neighbours home as a backdrop to between the tea tree branches, and up to about two thirds of my window vista. It is late afternoon, so there is patches of brighter light on the left of the tiles.

Above that, there is sky - only a small section of that classic sky blue, the rest fluffy white clouds with wispy edges, and grey lower clouds closing in, it is supposed to rain later tonight. Depending on whether the sun is out or under the cloud, the colour-bond fence is either cream, or golden wheat and the shadows the tea tree casts on it are either loosely shaped, nebulous, or in hard relief, a perfect replica of the tree, but to the right and slightly lower.

The tea tree branches are covered in a flat lichen, a light dusty sage colour with hints of light blue, the branches themselves are quite light where exposed to the sun, and darker underneath and on the trunk, an average mid brown - if I were to use pencils, I would be looking for my Van Dyke brown, a little dark sepia, a little dark warm grey. (I admit, when in deep observation I often think about what pencils I might use were I to try and capture what I am observing)

There is a leaf-curl spider making her web right now in the murraya, setting herself up for some insect catching fun through the night. She is methodically going back and forwards between murraya branches, establishing the outside of her web with such purpose, such determination. As I look closer I see below her the remnants of an earlier web, there is a black beetle suspended from the broken web - it must have flown into the web and destroyed it, but was still trapped enough to have remained stuck.

There are lessons about impermanence here - the fleeting shadows, real but also ephemeral, the destroyed web and the new made meticulously again, the new growth on the murraya, the broken branch on the tea tree, the shifting clouds. I look out this window every day, and I will always notice something new. The other day I watched two cabbage moths doing their winged ballet dances. The weather, the light, the season makes for changes dramatic and minute, but there is always something to see. This vista is often an anchor for me when I am working at my computer.

If I allow myself to look for the green and the blue, the natural colours of our earth, then I feel calmer, more centred, and able to continue.