I wasn’t sure what to expect. I knew there would be wine, and I was supposed to bring a yoga mat, but that was pretty much the extent of the research I’d done. I’d seen an Instagram ad for an event at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden (which is pretty much my NYC happy place) called “A Liminal Soundbath for the Birds,” and since my Silk & Sonder journal theme for June is “spontaneity” and I’m kind of in love with the word “liminal,” I thought, “Why not?” and bought a ticket – for what turned out to be the best ninety minutes of my week.
There was indeed wine, so I bought a glass of rosé and followed the crowd into the Cherry Esplanade, found a spot and rolled out my mat near one of the trees. Peaceful music played quietly through the speakers scattered beneath the trees as the hum of conversation filtered through the field. I sipped my wine and watched as friends greeted each other, and as others, like myself, read while we waited, periodically looking up to see what everybody else was doing.
And then it began. The music changed: still peaceful, but louder – and now live. Alex Somers, Julianna Barwick, & Mary Latti launched into the first of their songs for the evening, many of which blended in recorded birdsong. The crowd quieted as the music washed over us, and at the end of the first song, we were invited to lay back on our mats and simply listen.
I can’t even tell you how long it had been since I’d just laid on the ground and watched the clouds. Some of the birds who call the Garden home obliged us by flying overhead, darting between the trees, and adding their voices to the music as the artists riffed off each other. The sun set and the sky gradually darkened until the stars were visible, and fireflies flickered in the grass and among the branches of the trees.
It was magical. And utterly peaceful. Even just sitting here, writing about it, I can feel my breath slow and my heart calm. I can still feel the grass between my toes, the damp of the ground as the dew rose, the solidness of the earth, the breath of wind across my arms, the slight chill of the evening air. As the concert came to an end, I felt more grounded than I’d been in days, and that feeling has lingered, deep in my core. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed an experience like that, and I’m so grateful to have had it. It changed me, a bit. I’ve always loved being out in nature, but I find myself craving it more than ever these days. Perhaps it’s because the world seems to be going mad, and the simplicity of the crunch of leaves on a forest path and the ubiquitous birdsong in Brooklyn brings me back to “in the beginning… and it was good.”
The Japanese have a practice called shinrin-yoku, which translates to a “forest bath.” It’s more than just going for a walk in the woods – it’s doing so with the intent to be fully present in the moment, noting sights and sounds and scents, the way things feel, connecting with nature and with yourself. It generates the same sense of deep inner peace and calm that I felt during the soundbath. This practice pretty much got me through the pandemic, and is still very much a lifeline – but I realize, as I reflect on what if felt like to lay in the grass and watch the stars come out, that I’d shifted my focus a bit without quite recognizing it. I try to walk five miles every day, and sometimes I find myself walking through the woods to hit my step count instead of to be present to the moment and to myself. There’s nothing wrong with that – but when that’s my approach to a walk in the woods, I miss out not only on the deeper benefits that being fully present brings, but on the practice that makes it easier to be just as present in the moment in other situations.
So, this weekend, I headed back to the woods, for both step count and presence – in search of the liminal space to be found in the cool of the shade beneath the trees and the splash of water against rocks in a brook. I sat on a rock next to a waterfall, and took time to notice the way sunlight reflected off the water onto the underside of a branch as it bobbed gently in the breeze. I slowed down, and paid attention to the slightly swampy scent of algae, and the dragonflies zipping around above it on a pond. I laughed when one of the peacocks from the zoo invaded the serenity with a screech, because that’s not a sound you’re supposed to hear in the woods of New York State, but you do when the woods back right up to the Prospect Park Zoo. (You also tend to run into drum circles and accordion jam sessions, but those are stories for another day.)
The point is: even when the world is upside down, becoming grounded, re-centering, reconnecting with yourself, finding even the briefest moment of peace and contentment, is possible. It just takes a little time and intentionality, and it’s a gift you can give to yourself.
So whatever it is that works for you – whether it’s yoga, mediation, prayer, or a nice long walk in the woods – lean into that practice, and you’ll find a door to peace and presence open.
Grace and peace,
Happy
