Take a hint from nature; you are alright. Right?
Plus a meditation on finding what's present despite all the moving parts
Over the years, I’ve spent countless hours daily on a bench facing a pond. So much time, in fact, that I’ve become deeply acquainted with the landscape’s intimate details. I’ve noticed the quiet choreography of the trees—each tree’s signature bow to the wind, how their leaves flirt with the sunlight, how some shed and rebound with quiet determination. It may be in my head but I also know some of the sounds they make depending on the intensity of the wind(okay, it’s in my head). I’ve learned the personality of the grasses, their cycles of flourishing and retreating, how they whisper for fumigation when pests invade, how they brown during the colder months and their green lusciousness in spring. I know when the rude gnats return in delight to suck the blood from flesh exposed to the elements. They never even greet first. A simple ‘hello, we haven’t been here in 9 months, what have you been up to?’ would suffice. I know every duck that graces the pond each particular season—their waddles, their pecking orders, their quirks. And then there are the canadian geese. Gosh! The last season, two factions visited the pond every day. They would act like rival kingdoms, staging imaginary battles, honking their grievances across the water in what seemed like a staged war. This bench has become my sanctuary of contemplation, where the external world begins to mirror the internal one. And in moments of deep deep stillness, the line between the two dissolves. I start to see that there are not two separate worlds but just one—a seamless, singular existence. It’s such an incredible unfolding as what seemed like two worlds become just one and this ‘me’ disappears.
This practice of observation of nature(not like I am separate from it) has begun to guide and influence how I see the world of our mental states and how we relate to our stories. Many are times, we look at things in our lives that are broken, things we want changed, things we would rather have some other way than it currently is, without factoring the mysterious power of nature’s change. Read that as ‘life’s change’. Our minds demand change in the way it wants to dictate without factoring the understanding that nature does not bend it’s will to the individual mind. Our minds demand transformation on rigid terms, oblivious to the effortless, undirected flow of life. We yearn for change, to bend reality to our will, rarely pausing to consider the mysterious rhythms of nature.
Take a look at the most immediate piece of nature we possess: our bodies. Notice how they change, impervious to our wishes. No matter how fiercely we cling to an ideal, the body heeds its own timeline. I’ve reached that age where my hair now retreats at the temples, leaving bald patches that mean that I have to cut my hair almost every week to maintain the evenness of my scalp. Meanwhile, I remember my younger self, bemused by older men with thinning hair, thinking them somehow at fault. And now? Here I am, a participant and recipient in this cosmic joke.
I’ve witnessed my heart’s wear and tear, a quiet rebellion against my past neglect of health. Meals eaten late in the night now exact their toll—a far cry from the days when I could feast at midnight and drift to sleep without consequence. I have noticed so keenly how my pinky toenail(is that what it’s called) grows so much slower than the larger counter parts(especially my big toe nail).
It’s not just my body. I’ve seen change etched into the faces of friends and family I haven’t seen in years. Time weaves its threads, reshaping them while leaving their essence intact. Nature moves as it will. Yet we worry about controlling life. We worry about our lives, we worry about what we will become. We worry about what may happen to us in the future. We worry about the current world economic systems as if our worry will change anything.
No, I am not advocating for or endorsing of passivity. I am attempting to invite you to lean even closer to see what’s happening under the hood! It’s change appearing as the unfolding and the morphing of forms. All things change. It’s the fundamental fact of life yet it’s that fact that we struggle the most to accept. In seeing change, if we even pay attention, we imagine that change happens for the worst or it happens for the better. Yet, in our dualistic thinking we refuse to see that change happens in neither direction. We become blinded to chang’es neutrality.
There is some comfort here, though. Once again, you have to lean even closely to see it. It’s the comfort of seeing that all things change. In their change, we remain unchanged at the core. It’s so so self evident! Take a look at your baby picture. Notice how your body has transformed, your face reshaped by time. What changed? Clearly, the body. And if the body changed, then you—the observer, the essence—could not be the body. Isn’t that astonishing? Isn’t it interesting how we include ourselves as the changer because forms change and we so believe it is ‘us’ that changed. Isn’t this proof of our attachment to forms. It’s like believing that since your clothes were stained with oil then you are the one who is stained. What is it truly that’s unchanged by the morphing of forms? What is it that is changeless? There are so many hints and easter eggs that show our changelessness. Take a look at your dreams when you sleep. With all the activities of the mind, with all the activities in the dream wasn’t the body changeless and immovable right in bed? Take a look at your tastes over the years. As they changed, weren’t you the one noticing those changes?
Consider the timelessness of memory. You remember your earliest recollections not as someone else, but as the same observer who sits here today. Even when emotions ebb and flow, joy, sadness, anger—it is always “you” who feels them, unchanging at the center. Have you ever noticed how the act of observing your thoughts reveals a gap between the thinker and the observer? That gap is another whisper of this changeless essence.
“Changeless essence” can sound like just poetic words— a fluffy phrase. But what really is it? How do I know? How could you know? What the heck is it? Here’s where I would ask for you to use the little bit of mental energy and intelligence we have to lean into this particular investigation. Like me, sitting on this bench staring at this willow-like tree, I want you to ask, what is it that gives life to the tree? We see the leaves, we see the branches, we see the stems and when we pull out the soil, we see the roots. What is that thing we can’t see? Oh that may be harder to investigate because we may not know. You’re not a tree, are you? Let’s investigate you! What is that that gives life to that changing body? What’s the thing that can’t be seen yet knows? What is this knowing? This knowing! The knowing that you are! The knowing that is aware of the changing tides of emotion, thoughts and materialness of the body! Is that Knowing not untouchable by things that change? Can you figure out the untruth in that statement? Where is this assumption lacking? Where is this conclusion bound to fail?
Viktor Frankl, in his harrowing account of surviving a concentration camp in his book, Man’s Search for Meaning, highlights something so profound. He writes, ‘even when everything external was stripped away, there was an inner freedom, a core self that could not be touched’. How do we find that core self? How do we stay in that core self— in that core Knowing? I recently heard(can’t recall where) a reference to this metaphor that totally describes this:
If a room were asked what made up the room, it would mention the chairs, tables, furniture, curtains, windows, carpet and photo frames. If those were taken out of the room though, it would still be the room! Why? The room itself is the space in which all of these objects find their rest. The room was not made up of the objects. The room was the room without the need to be defined by the objects. Just like the room, we tend to define our lives based on the objects that arise in our lives. And so when life changes, we tend to think it’s our lives that change. But our lives don’t change. Nature changes. The same nature that changes our skins, the same nature that moves seasons, the same nature that changes fashion trends, that same nature changes the objects in our lives.
Rumi, the 13th-century Persian poet, captures this beautifully in his writings. He urges, “Try not to resist the changes that come your way. Instead, let life live through you. And do not worry that your life is turning upside down. How do you know that the side you are used to is better than the one to come?” These words point to an essence that remains steady even as the storms of life churn around us. Rumi’s poetry serves as a timeless reminder that the core self is unshakable.
Nelson Mandela, too, exemplified this profound truth in his life. In his autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom, Mandela reflects on the years he spent in imprisonment, a period during which nearly every external freedom was taken from him. Confined within the harsh walls of Robben Island, he endured physical deprivation, isolation, and the ever-present shadow of injustice. Yet, in the face of these challenges, Mandela discovered an unyielding truth: while the world outside could be controlled, his inner world remained inviolable. His captors could dictate his physical movements, but they could not touch the essence of who he was. He found a profound sense of freedom in the recognition that, at his core, he was untouchable by external forces. This realization did not simply sustain him; it transformed him. Rather than succumbing to bitterness, he emerged with a spirit of reconciliation, understanding that his inner being—unchanging and resilient—was his truest source of power.
Mandela's journey is a testament to the changeless core that resides within all of us. It demonstrates that even when external conditions are dire, there is an inner space of freedom, peace, and strength that cannot be taken away— that cannot be touched. His life invites us to look beyond the surface of our experiences and find within ourselves the same constancy that enabled him to endure and ultimately rise above the most challenging circumstances.
You see, it’s often easier to make mention of people who endured hardship and harvest meaning from these. I am keenly aware of this wave in my articulation of this still, untouchable, immovable essence of us. But let’s even shelf the story of any form of resilence for a minute. Let’s draw attention to times in our lives when things were really good, when we shared meaningful moments with friends and families, when we hit some good fortune, when we felt so much love that it turned into sparks of ecstacy— isn’t there still a core that’s untouched and unmoved by these pleasant circumstances? If that’s hard to touch, reflect for a second, what was it that noticed these good moments? Is that that notices not by itself untouchable, still, peaceful, transparent?
I am also keenly aware that we can make allusions to the perfection of nature, pointing to all of the good things happening in nature but failing to factor in all of the natural disasters, the famine that happens in parts of the world, the destruction and decay on aspects of the earth. Even in these, friend, there’s a life force that’s apparent.
My friend, I write this to you, as I write to me, that despite the changing times, we cannot stay focused(except for rhetorical purposes) on whether they are good times or bad times, we cannot focus on whether they are challenging times or times of opportunity. A sweet sweet sweet spot to bring ourselves to is that spacious space that is witness to all of the changing times. It’s challenging at first to not be able to place one’s hands on an object. But with training, we can stay as the space of the room, we can stay as the life that animates the body. We can stay as the changless face that was never born and will never die.
Contemplative Practice: Embracing the Changeless Amidst Change
Find a quiet, comfortable spot, if possible in nature—a park bench, a spot by a pond, or simply near a window with a view of trees or sky. Let this space become your sanctuary for observation.
Now, close your eyes and take a few deep breaths, feeling your body settle into stillness. Begin by noticing the most immediate sensations without attempting to change anything: notice the feel of your breath, the support of the surface beneath you, and the sounds around you.
Gradually open your eyes and shift your focus outward. Observe the details of the natural world in front of you—the movements of leaves in the wind, the play of sunlight, the behaviors of animals, insects or passersby. Pay attention without labeling or judging; simply notice.
Reflect on the changes you see. Perhaps a cloud drifts and reshapes, a breeze strengthens and wanes, or a bird flits from one branch to another. Ask yourself: "What remains constant as all this change unfolds?"
Bring your attention back to yourself. Notice your breath, your body, and your thoughts. Recognize how emotions and sensations arise and fall away, much like the movements in nature. Then, ask:
Who or what is observing these changes?
Am I the changing body or the thoughts that come and go, or something constant beneath it all? How would I even know?
Gently inquire:
What is aware of my thoughts, emotions, and experiences?
If my body and mind are always changing, what part of me notices these changes without being changed itself?
Let go of the effort to define or explain. Simply rest as the awareness that observes everything. Feel into the spaciousness of this awareness—unchanging, peaceful, and present.
Reflect on Rumi's words: “Try not to resist the changes that come your way... How do you know that the side you are used to is better than the one to come?” Let this remind you to embrace change as a natural unfolding of life, rather than something to control.
Integration into Life
After your practice, carry this awareness into your daily activities. When challenges or joys arise, pause and ask:
What is noticing this moment?
Am I caught in the change, or resting in the unchanging?
Regular Reflection
Revisit this practice daily or weekly, letting the stillness and observations deepen. Over time, the gap between the "external world" and the "internal observer" may dissolve, revealing the seamless unity of existence.
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