“Connected” a work in progress. Samples from “Connected” are posted below. This work and photographs are a copyrighted project created and designed by Charmaine Coimbra. For further information email firstname.lastname@example.org
“A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” ― Albert Einstein
When I informed the radiologist who would treat me post breast cancer-surgery that I would spend several weeks at the beach, he said, “It’s a good place to heal. We have a primordial connection to the sea. So, go sit, go heal and don’t get a sunburn!” he prescribed.
I stood on the bluffs of a wild coastline. Elephant seals whinnied and barked. A pair of back-floating otters cracked the shells of crabs. In V formation, brown pelicans soared above a migrating gray whale that swam north with her calf. Waves blasted against the monolithic off shore rocks. Like a blessing, the briny sea spray anointed my face. Like electricity the electric power of the sea surged through my flesh and touched the marrow of my bones. I faced the sky and let the ocean’s strength cover me like a blanket. Anima Mundi made itself present. The earth’s soul pulsated through the sea’s motion and bounced off the warm sunlight captured on the rocky hills behind me. A young tree bowed to the earth as a breeze swept through its limbs. Life affirmed itself both within and outside of my body.
This was the source of my personal healing after a tumultuous life and a battle with cancer. The sea spoke to me. Its rhythm settled my soul — like a meditation.
We can’t always be by the sea. We can find healing and wisdom most anywhere in nature. This collection of contemplations takes you to the sea (life), encourages you to be among the trees (strength), asks you to seek the wide expanses of the desert (vision), and offers thoughts to live in light at home (compassion). Life, strength, vision and compassion are four elements in one’s life that can make a positive impact within. They are all connected
Silent moments of contemplation and meditation are a majestic prayer that allows us to lift above the storm and calm the air around us.
Contemplation, according to Thomas Merton, “… is the highest expression of our intellectual and spiritual life. It is that life itself, fully awake, fully active, fully aware that it is alive. It is spiritual wonder. It is spontaneous awe at the sacredness of life, of being. It is gratitude for life, for awareness and for being. It is a vivid realization of the fact that life and being in us proceed from an invisible, transcendent and infinitely abundant source.”
Meditation is a hike into the heart, the mind, the soul. It is a door that opens the windows to understanding and quietude.
“A significant shift occurs after we integrate the internal and external worlds: we move beyond polarity and duality and learn to see both worlds at once … This more accepting and expansive way of thinking increases our tolerance for ambiguity, which is the function of wisdom. … wisdom always looks for the most elegant solution, the one that will create a genuine win-win and serves the greater good of the majority of people,” wrote the late Angeles Arrien in “The Second Half of Life.”
“Connected” offers the reader 48 moments of contemplation and meditation derived from factual evidence of the condition of our world and our inner selves.
I’ve connected what I know about our seas, our trees, our deserts and our homes, and I encourage the reader to find quiet moments of contemplation and discover inner peace, wisdom and health.
Turn off and unplug noisy distractions. Find a comfortable and safe place to sit. You can sit in the classic meditation pose, or sit on a seat. Comfortably place your hands on your legs. Turn to the page that speaks to you at this moment. Take in the thought on that page, then rhythmically breathe in and out calming your mind with each breath. Contemplate.
Let nature help you find your peaceful center. Connect with anima mundi, the earth’s living soul.
By the Sea
My love affair with the sea began as a child during a dark moment in my personal life. Rescued from my family’s dysfunction, a kind relative included me in a two-week seaside vacation.
Energized by the sound of the sea and the lapping waves not far from the oceanfront getaway, each morning I gulped my breakfast cereal, scurried barefoot down the wooden stairs and charged through the sand toward the surf. By 9 a.m. I bobbed where the waves began their incoming swell. The swells lifted me from the sandy bottom and I flattened my body into a dead man’s float. My nightmare childhood dissolved as I transformed into an unnamed mammal that healed in the seas.
Boys rode the surf while I bobbed. Not to be outdone, I searched for the next swell. The teal water rose like fast-rising bread, dwarfing me like a bread crumb. This is a good one, I thought. I worked my best strokes so that I could ride this wave like warm butter on bread into the shore. Instead, it lifted me high above the shore and I watched the boys get a free ride.
“Here comes one,” a nearby sunburned and water-logged kid yelled my way.
This wave was mine. I kicked hard and stretched my arms almost beyond my reach for the best stroke that matched the incoming wave. My heart pounded in anticipation. The water surged. I took a deep breath and swam with the pitch. I owned it. My arms formed a V. The ocean propelled me past timid swimmers testing the waters. The wave crested and fell like a bride’s veil of white netting. Now the ocean cradled me and gently released me with a smooth landing into the sand. I was Neptune’s beloved maiden of the sea.
I often use this memory to fuel my meditations.
Inhale deeply and let this breath expand your torso. Hold for a second or two, and exhale. Repeat as if to mimic the incoming waves on a calm summer morning.
Close your eyes. Let your breathing become like a swollen wave aimed to touch the sand. As your breath crests, so does the wave. Your exhale pairs with the topaz water that glows white as it falls like a fountain to the sparkling sand. Before your closed eyes white foam stretches to kiss your forehead and light surrounds your being.
As you breathe you give gratitude to the sea for this air, for it is the sea that produces the oxygen in every other breath you take.
Billions upon billion of tiny ocean plants — phytoplankton — feed vital oxygen into our air. As you contemplate the wizardry of photosynthesis and let the sun’s light bloom your awareness, you become like phytoplankton that floats near the water’s surface. The water gently rocks your weightless body as you breathe in, breathe out and let the light warm you.
It was the biologist, John Zachary Young who wrote: “In order to know life — what it is, what it has been, and what it will be — we must look beyond the details of individual lives and try to find rules governing all … The composition of the ocean is of special interest to biologists since life first became possible because of conditions in the sea.”
When I allow myself to float in the cosmic sea, I am captured by a warm current of water that sweeps me to understanding the Mother of Life — our sea.
Among the Trees
At age 21, I sat on the deck of a northern California home that overlooked a redwood, oak and madrone forest. The morning fog slowly revealed a magnificent beauty, and my own awakening. Scotch broom’s sweet fragrance filled the air.
I was caustic and deeply hurt by an unexpected rejection by the religious faith that I was born into. I pondered an Allen Watt’s quote, “If you go off into a far, far forest and get very quiet, you’ll come to understand that you’re connected with everything.” Like Joni Mitchell’s words from Chelsea Morning, “And the sun poured in like butterscotch, And stuck to all my senses,” I realized that my baptized faith no longer offered me what I was searching for. What I searched for was right in front of me–nature in its most glorious beauty, and it was sticking to all my senses.
Not only are trees essential for life, but as the longest living species on earth, they give us a link between the past, present and future.
Historical references to the sacredness of trees fills volumes of poetic works. Taliesin, a 6th century Celtic bard used what some academics claim as the secret language of trees to express and exchange ideas with those with need to know, “without anyone there being any the wiser.”
Los Angeles’s Tree People (treepeople.org) lists the “Top 22 Benefits of Trees” to include facts like:
In one year an acre of mature trees can provide enough oxygen for 18 people.
Trees absorb odors and pollutant gases (nitrogen oxides, ammonia, sulfur dioxide and ozone) and filter particulates out of the air by trapping them on their leaves and bark.
Whether as houses for children or creative and spiritual inspiration for adults, trees have provided the space for human retreat throughout the ages.
Will we lose this connection as deforestation continues destroying an estimated 18 million acres (7.3 million hectares) of forest a year?
Throughout history trees represent wisdom and strength. Each time we linger among the trees we are offered their gift of strength.
Inhale deeply and let this breath expand your upper body. Hold for a second or two, and exhale. Repeat as if to mimic a rhythmic breeze wafting through a thick forest of trees on a warm fall afternoon.
Close your eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. As your breathing strengthens and comforts, so does your vision. Each breath exhaled lets the golden, yet weary leaves of the forested trees depart from their source to grace the soil below. Shedding is the first step to renewal.
As you breathe you give gratitude to the trees for this air, for it is the trees that give you the oxygen in every other breath you take.
In the midst of a forest, beneath a massive 8-prong oak — a tree of courage and strength — I sat.
Encircled by pines and oaks, a grass-covered mound rose behind this bench. The mound was once inhabited by indigenous people. Their ghosts gave rhythm to the forest song.
Jays squabbled. Like a drummer in the wild, a woodpecker hammered into a tree. A grey squirrel jettisoned straight up an 80-foot pine. Tiny birds, backlit by the morning sun, fluttered in the oak’s high branches. The gobble of wild turkeys echoed in the forest. The woodsy incense of forest-life and debris invigorated my senses.
Life seemed abundant in this rare forest — one of three Monterey pine forests in the world. But it dies a bit more with each blink of my eyes. Pines with green needles last week, are now tinged in burnt-sienna — the first sign of a tree’s fight for life.
Drought. Disease. Age. People. Earth. Wind. Fire. Water. A planetary juxtaposition of elements.
Still, I reveled in the peace among the trees.
I can’t physically be in nature at this moment, but with my eyes at rest I let my imagination see an acorn in my hand. I caress this seed with love and watch it sprout forth with life. As it reaches toward the sky and into the light, nature’s peace spreads through my body like the leaves of this young oak tree that I hold in my hand.
Each new leaf is another element of the peace that grows within me I give gratitude to the trees for giving oxygen to breath. I silently sit and let nature’s song among the trees sooth my soul.