I took the Christmas lights down from my gutters yesterday. I know, I’m a little late. In my defense, it was still snowing a few weeks ago. But May Day has come and gone, and we have entered into the portion of the cycle of the year that brings with it ample daylight and wakeful days.
I have a list of several things around our house that I want to accomplish before the light starts to dwindle again later this year. Some of my intentions will come to pass. Some goals and projects will linger on my list and end up hibernating through another winter. Then wake again when we find ourselves, during the next cycle, positioned to the sun as we are now.
My greatest aim, the heartbeat behind my list of projects, is to be ever deepening my commitment to place. To notice where things are waking. To notice where things are worn. To notice how the tilt of the earth and the moods of the sky affect my ability to make repairs. To be an active participant with place. To trust the solidity of my persistent presence in it.
The spiritual practice of wildness centers on being in attentive and dynamic relationship with my present environment. It’s about daring to dwell here and now, without getting stuck. It’s about carrying with me a sense of place, without succumbing to complacency.