Every morning I am gifted with feeling the sun emerge beyond the horizon.
I feel its gentle nudge on my being.
My body knows the sensation of dawn.
That moment, upon waking when light seeps through the cracks of night and pulls me into this world again I feel awe. Gratitude. A quiet reverence for the mystery that is another day. I thank Spirit for this life, for another chance to witness and be witnessed, to listen and be part of this great unfolding.
I stretch, slowly, and feel into my body each limb, each breath, each beat of my heart. I am here again. Awake. Alive. In this waking world, where last night I travelled through other realms or simply rested in peace, while life carried on as it always does tending itself in rhythms far older than me.
Outside my window, the trees are already in conversation. I can’t always hear the words, but I feel their presence like elders sitting in a circle. They have stood through storms, droughts, generations of birds nesting and leaving, growing rings of wisdom beneath their bark. Their patience humbles me. They do not rush to bloom. They wait, they trust.
The mountains beyond them sit in deep time.
Their stillness reminds me that I do not need to climb every day. Some days, it is enough to just be to root in, to listen, to hold. Mountains don’t speak loudly, but they speak true. They carry memory in their silence, and I turn to them when I need reminding of my place in the story: small, sacred, held.
The rivers speak in softer tones, but they are always moving. I learn from them how to surrender—how to flow with grace around the obstacles rather than hardening. They’ve taught me that resistance is not always strength; that softness, too, can carve through stone. And when my emotions swell, I remember that rivers overflow sometimes too and there’s no shame in that.
The ocean, with her vastness and her moods, has been one of my greatest teachers.
She teaches me about cycles, about letting go, about the deep pulse that connects all things. Sometimes I sit with her, and feel her pull at something inside me I didn’t even know needed tending. She reminds me that beneath the surface, there is always life.
And then there are the elders who walk and crawl and fly those who age slowly, who carry knowledge in their bodies and their movements. The sea turtles, the wombats, the old eagles that soar without need for show. They don’t rush. They don’t hustle. They know. They honour time differently. And I listen. Because they have witnessed more than I ever will, and yet they walk the Earth gently.
Each day, I am held in this council of elders.
Tree, mountain, ocean, river, and creature.
They guide me without speaking.
They lead by being.
And all they ask is that I remember:
I am not separate. I belong.
And so I rise, I breathe, I walk this day with reverence.
I open myself to the lessons,
to the quiet teachings that come through leaves and light,
through feathers and footprints,
through the ancient rhythm of the Earth
who has always known how to carry me.
Rachel Shields
Knowing In Nature 2025
