In many shamanic societies, if you came to a medicine person complaining of being disheartened, dispirited, or depressed, they would ask one of four questions: “When did you stop dancing? When did you stop singing? When did you stop being enchanted by stories? When did you stop being comforted by the sweet territory of silence?”
— Gabrielle Roth
This morning I saw a hawk perched on one of the last remaining tomato trellises on the farm.
I stood motionless, not wanting to startle it.
As the symphony of morning birds reached a crescendo, I remained silent, appreciating this special gift from nature.
I’m glad moments like this continue to fill me with joy and wonder.
Like dancing and singing and telling stories, being enchanted by nature feels like a good sign that our hearts are well-tuned.
It’s when I find myself rushing past these opportunities to pause, even for a minute, and bask in the beauty around me that I begin to feel a subtle pinch of discontent or anxiety.
This is largely why I love having people visit the farm. There’s something about seeing the space for the first time that interrupts the usual pace and encourages people to slow down.
We had the pleasure of hosting many first-time visitors this Sunday when JoyRiot held a community dance gathering at the farm.
It was a silent disco, which made it especially fun for me to watch so many smiling faces moving to music I couldn’t hear.
The dance leader was incredible, encouraging everyone to fully express themselves through whatever movement called to them.
“Embrace looking weird,” I heard her tell the group, a bit of wisdom we could all stand to adopt.
At one point, she instructed everyone to dance with their shadows. I smirked as I continued my farm chores, recognizing the significance of such a practice beyond movement alone.
Laughter and song broke out among the group, sounds that would inspire any medicine person to smile in approval.
The spirit that morning was high.
Perhaps its ripples are what attracted our hawk friend this morning.
If you haven’t found time recently to dance or sing, tell stories, or retreat into silence, let this be your invitation to make time for it this week.
There’s no telling what might reveal itself when we become quiet enough to notice.
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