Earth Anchor by Helen West

So many of us feel adrift right now, bobbing about in a sea of uncertainty, whilst in lockdown to keep us safe and secure.    

I keep myself anchored through daily meditation and time in my garden.  I notice the wildlife and their (hopefully not) temporary liberation from the worst excesses of humankind.  Two adorable kittens joined our household three weeks’ ago.  Just in time to entertain us and provide company and joy.  The present moment right now is where I feel most grounded.  I feel grateful for my health and the health of my loved ones.  I feel grateful for my home and my garden.  I feel grateful for our friends and for my ability to work from home.  All these things were always there. 
 
Before, I would have walked past Martins’ bench, the earth anchor.  

 

Now, I choose to take the opportunity to stop. I sit upon Martin's proverbial bench.  I reflect and notice the abundance in my life.

My yoga teacher friend, Julia Poole, last night wrote a beautiful piece.  She lives on the coast in Cornwall.  The photograph is taken at Crantock Beach.  I'd like to share it here (with her permission).
  
It was almost dark as I rounded the corner. Felt like I’d left my walk too late. What was the point even? Somehow the hours had slipped away (again), a blur of social interaction at distance... a whirl of wonderings... a flurry of internet activity.
And then there it was, far on the horizon of this apocalyptic seascape. The Light.

The golden reflection caused me to gasp with joy. Then almost collapse sobbing. How could something so beautiful still be happening when so much else was dissolving? 

If no-one sees the cat in the box is it still purring? If the world as we know it is ending will any of the things we usually enjoy retain their pleasure? And who will still be here by my side to find out? 

Yes deep, darkish thoughts. Maybe the sky talking. I sort of trudged and sort of stumbled along the soft-as-butter furrows of the water’s edge, head dangling precariously towards the depths. 

It took wading into the water itself to surface and find it again, the hope that’s kept me relatively buoyant so far in this desert. Not like me to drift away from centre, not like me to struggle with the aloneness, but then I’m guessing not many are staying that securely tethered at the moment. 

So I’m sharing this tumbling to say ‘you’re not alone’ and to cut a swathe in my own alone-ness. And just as importantly to show how Mother Nature remains wonderfully intact. Maybe more so now we have grown still and quiet. 

Night night and may the blessings of the sun and moon meet within you 


Thank you