But for the Wind

Field Notes III.XX: A return trip to Green Bough House of Prayer in middle Georgia

Welcome to Field Notes!

Invitation by Mary Oliver

Oh do you have time
to linger
for just a little while
out of your busy

and very important day
for the goldfinches
that have gathered
in a field of thistles

for a musical battle,
to see who can sing
the highest note,
or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,
or the most tender?
Their strong, blunt beaks
drink the air

as they strive
melodiously
not for your sake
and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning
but for sheer delight and gratitude—
believe us, they say,
it is a serious thing

just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in the broken world.
I beg of you,

do not walk by
without pausing
to attend to this
rather ridiculous performance.

It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You must change your life.

What is there to be gained from stillness? Is it just recovery time before the next pursuit, or is there more? Does there need to be anything to gain from it? Maybe stillness carries some intrinsic worth of its own. Any Zen monk could answer that koan.

I took my mom on a pilgrimage to Green Bough House of Prayer in Middle Georgia in January of 2024. The days were short. Although I had a nice time taking Mom there, in retrospect it felt a bit pressured or maybe rushed in a way. We all thought that may have been Mom’s last trip there. Although the trip was for her, for me it was still a chance to explore. I rushed to photograph the fading light when we arrived. I raced to capture the sunrise the next morning.

This time was different. In mid April I returned to Green Bough. My mom asked to go back to this place for another religious retreat. Since she no longer drives, I dropped everything to take her there. Since I had been there before, this time was truly just to facilitate the journey for her. For me, it was a time of stillness.

It was sun drenched and warm when we arrived. The garden was in bloom. It was quiet and still, but for the wind playing in the tree tops. Mom sat in a chair to read. I walked the ground. Though I had my camera along, I had no agenda. I simply strolled and observed, photographed what called to me and didn’t worry too much about the rest.

I now find myself wondering when I lost this ability to simply exist, without any goal or end game to strive for. Life in contemporary America is a flurry of stimulus and stress. All of the worries, the plans, schemes, frustrations, hopes, and distractions streak by in a constant vortex in the mind. A truly amazing phenomenon is finding clarity when it all finally settles on the third day of silence on a long backpacking trip.

But even a long backpacking trip is and activity with goals of miles and of destinations to reach. It can be compared to a flow state, the in-the-moment unconscious competence that emerges in activity. I’ve also found that state while writing or drawing, rolling in jiu jitsu, or photographing a fleeting sunset.

These are not stillness, but all actions with purpose. Maybe in stillness lies the clear water of the settled mind, discovered through meditation. There is an Art of Being, without looking forward or back. In the forest I find fascination in standing over and looking down on whorled vegetation. Could this be a part of that art?

Hurricane Helene came through this area half a year ago. Fortunately, all of the buildings were spared and the storm brought minimal damage, but for the wind. The wind flattened massive trees in the wooded back sections of the property. Most of the trails were impassable.

I walked where I could and returned to my simple lodging. A bed, small desk, and limited kitchen area occupy the same small room of the tiny house. It was a quiet place to sit in the afternoon sun. After a nice dinner conversation I returned to sit alone and write in silence, but for the soft wind outside.

I woke naturally before sunrise the next day. I ate a simple meal of homemade bread with butter and honey and some coffee. There was nowhere I had to be and nothing to do before lunchtime.

I walked the property once more. I did so just because I like to walk and the light of the morning sun shone warmly on the new green growth of springtime and the moon lingered overhead. It was a time to just be there. Sometimes a photo seemed appropriate. Sometimes not.

As the sun climbed higher I sat on the front porch of my cabin, watching the mockingbirds and cardinals chase each other from the best perches in the branches. As Mary Oliver writes- that could mean something. That could mean everything.

Maybe the Art of Being is a living meditation. It’s different that actively trying to ‘know thyself,’ as Socrates urges. This would be more of a practice of being comfortable with oneself, comfortable in THIS moment, comfortable in THIS place. If that is possible here, can it also be possible amidst life’s lowest lows and highest highs? Maybe this is the way Rilke urged- you must change your life.

Lunch was a simple communal affair, seated outside. It was mindful and delicious and though the company was pleasant, few words were spoken. Then came time to return home. The world of working and striving and planning and succeeding and failing.

Could I carry the Art of Being into that world with me? Soon I would find out. I walked into the lawn one more time to stand in the sun and watch the birds and the trees. All was quiet, but for the wind.

I hope you all have enjoyed this return trip to Green Bough House of Prayer! I mostly returned with an eclectic group of photos that struck me, and later added some reflection on my time there. What do you think of stillness in life, the Art of Being? Let’s discuss-

And, if you are curious about my first visit to Green Bough, you can read about it here-

A Pilgrimage, Of Sorts

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