Finding our balance in the inherent duality of human nature can be a daunting task. The ego is adhered to the physical body and we need it to remain alive in the earthly realm. The soul self strives to keep our divine portal open, to unveil the connection we have with all that is spirit. Meanwhile, our cognitive left brain wants to figure out how everything works, and the intuitive right brain sometimes simply sighs: 'ah, so it is '. This business of knowing self as a spiritual being in a physical body is not for sissies. 

For me, nature has always assisted in bridging the gaps. Mary Oliver is a poet who writes the translucent realm between humans and animals, so her vision of the natural world in relation to our species is rife with animal imagery. In her poem Wild Geese, she wrote:
"You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves."

How hard it can be for the spiritual seeker to live in the body. What a challenge for the sensationally oriented to embrace spirit. And it is in the integration of these diverse paths that we evolve. Without the ego we would not feed or shelter our body and it would die. If ego grows too large, we lose our sense of connection and become focused on self to the exclusion of others... and we wither. Without our soul self we would not know divine light, beauty, and love. Trying to live solely in either realm is like the turtle refusing to enter the water, the bird unwilling to step upon the earth. Yet we are often caught in feeling bad for getting wet, for not being able to stay always in the air, denying that is our nature to live in both realms.  

We can intentionally choose thoughts and actions to encourage the collaboration of ego and soul self. One practice that proves helpful for me is to cultivate awareness of what is holy in the mundane. When I handle beautiful soft wool before spinning I admire the texture, the luster, the absolute beauty of the integration of light, texture and color, and I am grateful both for the gift and for the perception. In the ocean I can see all life and motion, both the shadow of the moon and the reflection of the sun. Looking at a flower or plant, I remember the miraculous array of the Fibonacci sequence inherent in living things even if I cannot see it. My thoughts can reach for the heavens while my hands and my feet touch the earth. 

"And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?"
                                                              Mary Oliver, The Swan
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Once upon a time, an English Literature professor in a NY college asked his class what kind of trees lined the walkway to the English building. Not a single student was able to identify the type of tree; most were unaware that there even were trees along the path. This lack of connection with the natural world and the consequences of self absorption in our own tiny mental habitation became the topic of discussion, both in real life and in literature. Lewis Carroll and Dostoyevsky were on the reading list that semester. 

Following the coldest winter and then the hottest summer in forty years, we were blessed here on the Treasure Coast of Florida with a totally glorious Indian Summer. Last week I walked on my favorite beach and found myself hypnotized by the sun and the waves in the balmy 80 degree weather. A smile opened my face and gratitude expanded my heart. Moments of bliss like that sometimes sneak up on me. They seem a miracle of the moment, a vivid shift of perception (almost like falling down a rabbit hole) that gives me the ability to really see what is around me. These moments are so lovely that I am teaching myself to look for them in order to have more.

Today I kept warm with cashmere and wool, and admired the extraordinary quality of the gold autumn sunshine as it bathed my room with amber light in the morning hours. I find that staying close with nature keeps my heart open, even when nature expresses herself with bitter winds or heavy rains. I remind myself that it is the frigid cold of the high desert that makes the most exquisitely soft down to grow on Kashmir goats, and it is the seasonal heat that causes them to shed this amazing undercoat that ends up knit into my beloved socks. 

As we move through November towards Thanksgiving, take time to notice the natural beauty around you. Make time for a walk in woods, the beach, or in the park, or even gaze out the rainy window and look for the colors of the rainbow. Notice the trees on your path. It is easy to get lost in busy-ness or in the noise of your own mind; how much more fun to get caught up in appreciation of what is around you. Perhaps this is what Einstein meant when he said  "A person starts to live when he can live outside himself." 

Have a wonderful and grateful Thanksgiving season.
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