Saturday was so warm that none of us could sit still. I felt tingly all over, rousing and uncurling in the light. In the eyes of my children I could see that they felt it too. We put on sandals and swim trunks and marched off through suburbia to the tiny enclave of wildness at the end of our street, a steep-banked stream just beyond the sightline of lawn ornaments and vinyl siding.
I have decided that I do not like the term ‘mindfulness’. I have spent years with an inner voice urgently, persistently exhorting me to be ‘mindful’. But it doesn’t work. The word itself evokes the mind, and that is, for me, the very thing I long to escape. I prefer the term, and the sensation, of ’embodiment’. Ahh. Can’t you just feel the difference? It’s a soft breath, a delicious sinking into the senses, the pleasure of warm sun striking the skin, scent of oniongrass and chickweed, coolness of dusty feet in the water. Continue reading