Mountain

Whenever my thoughts are reeling or I fall out of touch with myself, I head to the hills. The mountain is my temple. A walk up the meandering trail or a twenty-minute sit within the intrinsically balanced natural world realigns my chakras and elicits from my soul a sigh of relief.  As I soften my gaze and take in the majestic terra firma, I experience myself as a small but significant part of something grand. I again know my place in this vast world. I am present.

Rocky Love

photo compliments of Dustin Brunson

This is all especially helpful in the uncertain realm of motherhood, where daily moods swing and needs change. But when I ponder Mountain on my altar this morning, I find myself wanting to be that mountain for my children. I know why my daughter grabs my hand when she feels uncertain or climbs up in my lap when she comes home from school; she is touching solid ground. I understand why my son incessantly babbles to me about his soaring plans; he wants to anchor them in the larger matrix.

As my desire to be present mounts, I root my feet deep into the earth. I wonder how else I might ward off my tendency to dash about? I think about meditation and mindfulness. Then I recall an article by Lisa Borgnes-Giramonti that I read in, dare I say, this month’s Martha Stewart Living about how crafting regulates breathing, quiets the mind, and brings us into the present moment. I do feel like a mountain when I sit down Buddha-style with my knitting among the leaves in the autumn sun while my children chase around the yard like squirrels.

BuddhaHeading out to channel mountain with my knit and purl, I leave you with my rendition of a favorite children’s song to accompany your present moment:

I am a mountain, learning to be still.

I am a mountain, learning to be still.

I am a mountain, learning to be still.

My roots go down.

 

My roots go down, down into the ground.

My roots go down, down into the ground.

My roots go down, down into the ground,

My roots go down.

 Blue Buddha