The 'Perch' Perspective
All beings require shifts in perspective. Eagles land on high rocks and swoop down for prey, ground hogs climb from within the womb of their earthen homes to stand sentinel. Thus far, the stations you have visited have been on the low ground, within the heart of PCEI, below the tops of trees.
What happens when you walk the trail beside the big garden and wind your way up to the Perch at the top of the hill? How does it feel to walk within the tall grasses themselves as you skirt the trail? What color is the sky today? What happens as you and the sky become closer together?
Are you a creature that likes to be out in the open or do you more prefer to stay hidden within the folds of the world? What are the sounds and sensations you are receiving from the natural world right now? Do you prefer to stay on the trail or to go up onto the patio of the perch? How would it be to live in a place such as this with this kind of perspective and protection? Does that appeal or not?
How do you see the world differently from here? Pick a place along the trail or at the Perch that allows you to experience this new perspective in a way that feels right to you. Ask permission to sit and engage with the environment and ask what new information it wants to give you; what new perspective does it have to offer? Does this allow you to connect more deeply with this area? With nature inside of you?
This trail is large enough to accommodate a wheelchair.
What happens when you walk the trail beside the big garden and wind your way up to the Perch at the top of the hill? How does it feel to walk within the tall grasses themselves as you skirt the trail? What color is the sky today? What happens as you and the sky become closer together?
Are you a creature that likes to be out in the open or do you more prefer to stay hidden within the folds of the world? What are the sounds and sensations you are receiving from the natural world right now? Do you prefer to stay on the trail or to go up onto the patio of the perch? How would it be to live in a place such as this with this kind of perspective and protection? Does that appeal or not?
How do you see the world differently from here? Pick a place along the trail or at the Perch that allows you to experience this new perspective in a way that feels right to you. Ask permission to sit and engage with the environment and ask what new information it wants to give you; what new perspective does it have to offer? Does this allow you to connect more deeply with this area? With nature inside of you?
This trail is large enough to accommodate a wheelchair.
Some vireos working toward rapture in distant oaks, as I taste pollen
when I breathe, as last night's rain works slowly through grass. A mist
that gleams the skin of everything rises from black dirt of fields, and
I, a slow traveler standing near a fire that smolders and chugs and
rekindles. Every small leaf has emerged, every flower. Oxen in the front
pasture shoulder the fence, chewing the last sprigs of the last round-
bale from winter. Soon they will labor with earth by day, by night. I
count on my hands until darkness, hum each mile of travel. A blackness
smolders in my throat though I am shining. I gather my knapsack of
blades, my seed, sprig of ivy between my teeth. I walk to the trees where
I've lodged my chariot, my flaming nag. A covey of pigeons pass over,
a wind is mountie from the west where bright squares of rapefield
curtsy and right, their bones filling with marrow. Sheep graze, blat for
their kin that come rucking through bramble into this hour, this light,
this ardor. This.
--Kevin Goodan from Winter Tenor
when I breathe, as last night's rain works slowly through grass. A mist
that gleams the skin of everything rises from black dirt of fields, and
I, a slow traveler standing near a fire that smolders and chugs and
rekindles. Every small leaf has emerged, every flower. Oxen in the front
pasture shoulder the fence, chewing the last sprigs of the last round-
bale from winter. Soon they will labor with earth by day, by night. I
count on my hands until darkness, hum each mile of travel. A blackness
smolders in my throat though I am shining. I gather my knapsack of
blades, my seed, sprig of ivy between my teeth. I walk to the trees where
I've lodged my chariot, my flaming nag. A covey of pigeons pass over,
a wind is mountie from the west where bright squares of rapefield
curtsy and right, their bones filling with marrow. Sheep graze, blat for
their kin that come rucking through bramble into this hour, this light,
this ardor. This.
--Kevin Goodan from Winter Tenor