The Power of Presence

Drift III, made of driftwood, shaped laurel, metal

On presence

“I can feel my heart expanding,” said mouse.

“And I can feel it, too,” smiled raven.

Thoughts while making…

I stood there then, where the forest meets the sea. And listened.

The ancient call of old brother heron. The rattle of a thousand small stones welcoming a new tide. The tips of eagle’s wings kissing water + air, a heartbeat receding swiftly into the mist.

It’s moments before sunrise. The rain came in the night. And she had been everything, stirring up seagrass + stars in the dark.

I unzip my tent. Morning greets me with a cold smile and dew under bare feet. The same feet that touched here as child and in all the years since.

And I walk - over barnacles and by anemones shy, around unseen squirting clams and tiny crabs that tickle your toes – to the water’s edge.

A quiet splash, a couple quick strokes. And I’m away, the paddleboard skimming the surface.

In these early morning explorings, I paddle against – and then drift with – the tides; watching worlds float by below and above.

As I begin to match the moment to memories cataloged 100 times before, I remind myself that I haven’t seen these things in this moment on this morning ever before.

I remind myself that I haven’t been here in this moment in this place ever before.

I remind myself that I am in this moment, in this place, at this exact time, on this very morning.

Right here. And right now.

And I begin to see. And I begin to feel. And I begin to hear.

And it’s beautiful, quiet and bright, the sun rising on a day unlike any other.

And the seals watch it all. Heads popping up, first here, then there. Curious. Ever curious.

If you allowed yourself to experience this very moment not as one of countless others, but as one of one,

how might you see your now – this now – with different eyes?