Trained to see

A letter from the Vital Field Collective

This post is part of an ongoing series of letters written for the Vital Field Collective, our weekly gathering exploring consciousness, presence, and the practice of living from our true nature.

I grew up in the northwest part of the lower peninsula of Michigan, and it was an absolute dream land. I tried to be outside as much as possible during the summers. We were on the western edge of the eastern time zone, so the days lasted until about ten o’clock at night. I was out as much as I could be, exploring.

During the winters, the days grew much shorter. By the time we were out of school it was almost dark, so we ended up spending much of the winters indoors. We would play games, occasionally read books, and watch movies to pass the time. The seasons really have a way of pushing you to conform to the rhythms of life. After the holiday season, winter became a bit of a gauntlet, just trying to hold out without losing our minds until spring finally showed up. We were in a process of waiting for change to open up, waiting for more space to explore beyond the patterns of just surviving winter. I am not writing this to complain about winters though. They were a beautiful time to go inward, contemplate, slow down, and be quiet.

Once spring started to emerge, it was time to start shedding layers. Layers of clothing, layers of survival patterns, and a return to a state of exploration. One of the things my family did in the spring was mushroom hunting. Early spring in northern Michigan is a beautiful time. Areas exposed to the sun feel like life bursting back into summer, but in spots shaded from the sun, deep in the woods where the light barely gets through, the ground still feels cold. Little pockets that have not let go yet. Parts of the forest still holding on to winter, even while everything around them is moving forward.

Hunting for mushrooms, specifically morel mushrooms, taught me a lot about looking for possibility. When you first start looking, they can be hard to see. You might be walking directly over one and not notice it at all. But if you keep looking, over time they start to appear everywhere. It is almost as if your eyes get directed to see something that was there the whole time, you just could not see it yet.

Dormant through the winter, emerging out of the decay of the past, mushrooms became a kind of symbol for us. A symbol for the changing rhythms of life. They taught us to look for the subtle in order to harvest the gifts. With enough patience and exploration, you can gather enough to be nourished by the full harvest hiding right in front of you.

That was a season, and the rhythms of life have brought many more since. Long days of exploration, followed by a fall into the stillness of winter where old patterns emerge again, followed by a spring of new life calling us back out to explore once more. What beauty.

So it is with this life. To see it from above summons a frequency of gratitude. Thank you.

Sending you love,

DN