Natural Wonder

There's nothing like nature to bring you back to your Self.

By Mark Coleman

On a rafting meditation retreat on the Green River in Utah, we glided effortlessly and silently through sandstone canyons—their walls ablaze with vermilion, crimson, and gold. Carved from the desert landscape, these cliffs are a testament to deep time, having existed more than 300 million years. After being in this terrain for several days in meditative silence, participants commented on how the stillness of the desert had brought about a quiet mind, become a deep presence in the body, and encouraged contemplation of the mystery.

Nothing supports the opening of the heart and mind like the beauty, tranquillity, and silence of the natural world. For centuries meditators have discovered the human potential to awaken in the temple of nature; that's why many monasteries and meditation centers are located within the depths of forests and jungles.

When we meditate in nature, we bring a receptive presence to the natural world. It comes alive—and so do we. We no longer look at nature as an inert or pretty object, but as a living and breathing world of mystery and sensitivity, a realm of wisdom and learning that is always whispering its teachings to us. By watching the resilience of pines swaying in a storm, the patience of a silkworm as it threads its way slowly skyward to a high branch, or the busy cheer of songbirds living simply in the present, we learn from nature's innumerable metaphors about how we too can live well.

After many years of intensive meditation retreats in Europe and Asia, I came to the United States and spent a lot of time backpacking in the wilderness. Falling in love with the Sierra Nevada, I began experimenting with meditation in the crisp alpine air. I quickly discovered how natural it was to meditate surrounded by the elements. I noticed that I was more wakeful and alert and, at the same time, open, relaxed, and spacious. I saw how easy it was to fully embody the senses, which created a deep calm. I realized what Patanjali, author of the Yoga Sutra, was pointing to when he wrote, "The mind can be made steady by bringing it into contact with sense experience."

After some years of exploration, I began to share the lessons, gifts, and joy I'd received outdoors by leading wilderness retreats. In these courses we follow the ancient practice of yogis meditating in the forests of India and the Himalayas and experience the fruits of that contemplative relationship to nature.

I start with meditation practices that turn our attention inward. I do this to train our attention to remain centered in the present moment through, for example, a mindful asana practice, or by focusing on the breath or on body sensations.

Once attention is collected into the present moment, we open our attention progressively to include our senses. We start with hearing—being present to the coming and going of sounds (like birdsong, the wind, or waves) but without getting lost in thinking about the source of the sound. Next we include the sense of touch—feeling the earth under our feet, the caress of the breeze on our skin, the prickliness of dry grasses, the tickle of bugs and flies. Last, we incorporate the experience of seeing, of using the awareness of the visual field—not to get lost in what we are looking at but rather to use seeing as a support for presence.

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