Waxing Poetics: Spirituality

My mother recently asked me, “Do you have a spiritual practice?” To which I immediately replied, “No,” thinking of more classic examples of spirituality. But after a few moments, I changed my answer, “Actually, yes, every day is a spiritual practice.”

We did a Yoga Nidra class together later that day, where the yogic guide led us through a meditation practice. She asked us to visualize our version of god, higher power, source. Without thought, my mind immediately sped to a warm summer day and then magnified closer closer closer to the earth, stopping— a ladybug, shiny and perfectly round, and so familiar, gently ambling across a chlorophyl-rich leaf.

This is my god.

Noticing every petal; her delicate or ragged shape, the way she lies upon her neighbor with ease, their similarities and differences. It is watching the shadows move minute to minute, migrate across the land day to day, and disappear at high noon on the summer solstice. It is watching the sun gently snuggling into Mt. Bachelor in the winter and then Mt. Jefferson in the summer. It is catching a whiff of something so intoxicating that I cannot continue with my day until I hunt it out, nose in the air hound-like, fully raptured in finding the source to be spring’s black currant blossoms or summer’s granite gilia flowers. (I have literally been lured into the wild of the night by the granite gilia’s siren call).

This is my spirituality.

My spirit is soothed by the warmth of the sun on my bare skin and the tickle of the hoarfrost on my eyelashes and the gentle caress of falling snow. The lightest drizzle of rain is a lullaby and the morning melody of red winged black bird, cooper’s hawk, goldfinch, and collared dove my personal symphony. Fresh nettle my teacher and my healer. Flowering yarrow my muse and my mother.

This is my source.

Have you ever seen a chicken laying an egg? Her gentle clucks, her vigor, and her smooth birth of a perfectly speckled egg? Have you ever seen a cougar stalking deer? Only for all three parties to spook one another, each running off in their own direction? Have you ever held a baby bunny or poult or chick? Watching them nod off in slumber in your warm palms?

This is my higher power.

My spiritual practice only ends when blocked by a screen or pierced by fluorescent light or crammed into lifeless walls.

If I sit and slow and really take in each amazing biological, chemical, mineral action that is simultaneously happening around me, my spirit feels full, elevated, inspired. To find every moment ethereal is my spiritual practice.