You know that thing that stops you in an instant, causes you
to pause? To look, listen or sniff? To marvel? To drop whatever it is you are
doing in rapt attention?
A fragrance from a certain season.
A particular type of weather.
The appearance of the sun or a moon phase, the stars, a
river, the ebony black of a raven’s feather, the crooked bend of a limb on
that old tree in the yard.
Are you an oak tree or ocean fanatic, island or sunshine seeker,
or a snow enthusiast? Do the smooth rolling green hills call you, or are the
sharp granite peaks of the ridge those that grab your heart and tug? Does the
melancholy of the mourning dove root you to the spot, or is it the hollow
drumming of a woodpecker? Is it the dew in the morning grass reflecting
thousands of miniature suns in the shining droplets? The rain pelting the
windows under an eerily blackened sky? Getting soaked in that rainstorm, or
gently prodded by hail, danced upon by a rainbow, or the prickles of wildly
growing tall weeds under your naked feet? Which sense first alerts you to the sudden
presence of this Other of your soul: its
sound, feel, sight, scent, taste…or your intuition?
Close your eyes and let your heart’s eye wander. What is it
that, when it occurs, causes you to cease whatever you are doing so that you
can pay full attention? What thing in the natural world is of such utter joy
and beauty that you become helplessly mesmerized? Perhaps you have five or six,
or seventy-one different forms and manifestations that evoke your passion.
Whatever is it that takes your breath away, seek it out.
Find it. Pay attention. Put yourself in its path. Drive by its hiding spot.
Visit a place where it’s commonplace and people don’t hear the powerful cry it
utters to you. Study it. Read about this passion. Light a candle at home near a
photograph of it. Pay homage, respect. Be silent in its presence. Draw, write,
photograph or paint this thing. Hold it in your memory. Listen to it. Collage it.
Speak your truth, or folly, or fear, or greatest accomplishment to it. Hike
down the steepest path with the sheer hope that you might rub up against the
soft belly of your intrigue. As you draw up your knees under the lighter covers
of spring, enfold in your sleepy arms and up along your belly the imaginary
body of the object of your enticement.
For me, it’s the wind blowing. Always, the wind…and anything
the wind animates: bamboo chimes at three A.M., my hair, the trees, my dog’s
ears…
It is also the sweet scent of lavender… a candlelit, full
moon night…cantaloupe and pomegranate sunsets…the smell of wood smoke…a tender
yellow flower that has found its home in the cracked cement…the wild filthy fur
of any untamed creature…the ocean’s salty breath…Orion (again and again because
he is my nighttime guide), ponderosa pines, burning hot sun on face…and there
are probably 17, 650 more (one for everyday of my life)…
Yes sisters, I am animated by these. And I deeply appreciate
their presence in my life. Being an appreciative
fanatic is not so unseemly a moniker.
All blog photographs taken by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted.
