Tag Archives: nature

Back to the bush: a natural healer

12 Jun

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There’s something magical about the bush. About nature. It nurtures, it calms, it calls you back.

I just went for a long, leisurely walk through the mountaintops. I had no purpose, other than to clear my mind and let nature guide me.

As the sun set and painted pastel hues across the cloudy sky, every moment was a feast for the senses. The soft, distant sound of buzzing bees mixed with the musical notes of nearby birds. The distinct crunch of leaves and sodden sticks reminded me that I wasn’t alone. All around me,ย camouflagedย and cautious, were the creatures of the land.

A kangaroo dashed out in front of me. Stopped. Stood. Stunned. Stared into my camera lens.

As the sky darkened, I was surrounded by a beautiful, natural art gallery. Intricate tree branches wavered in muddy puddles. A round, red sun beam projected between spindly trees. Mint moss crept up a collection of bark trees, a winter coat.

The silence. The soothing silence. The plod of my feet on the earth disturbed the peace.

I’ve been away from nature for too long. But she doesn’t judge. Whenever I return, I feel centered. Refreshed. Awakened.

Next time you’re feeling stressed or worried, I urge you to step outside and find a secluded spot away from city life. Focus on your surroundings, the sights, the sounds, the smells. The silence. It’s magical. Truly.

Gallery

At home among the gum trees

26 Dec

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Creamy cheese, warming wine, fresh air, lone early-morning bush walks, hugs and a miniature schnoodle nipping at my heels have marked my Christmas trip to mum’s charming Hunter Valley home.

Whenever I need to escape the frenetic city and re-centre myself, I hide away at mum’s haven, high up on a quiet mountain. It’s been eight months since my last visit; far too long. One of my New Year goals is to visit more often.

As I write this post, The Lad is lying on the couch, watching the Boxing Day Test (for non-Aussies, this is an excruciating tradition which involves eight hours of mind-numbing coverage of middle-aged men strolling up and down a sandy pitch, hitting a ball). Aside from the quiet murmur of the cricket commentary, it is blissfully quiet. A tiny bird is fluttering about in the tree outside the study. Crickets are buzzing beyond the fence line. There are no car horns, no irritating mobile phone ring tones (can’t get reception!), no one trying to sell me something I don’t need. I am alone with my thoughts. I am finally having the peace, rest and reflection I have craved all year.

There’s something about the way nature returns us to our centre; our unaffected state. Without stimulation, distraction and technology (well, aside from this laptop), there’s nothing to do but ‘be’. Being out in nature and being surrounded by the bugs and bees and birds, restores our balance and replenishes our reserves. I’ve spent months trying to master the ‘mind, body, spirit connection’ through yoga and meditation. But it’s always been crammed in between ordering groceries, vacuuming the floor or getting ready for work. It’s another chore on the ‘must do’ list. So I do it without really ‘doing’ it.

Up here, in this vast space of valleys and bush, I find my mind, body and spirit seamlessly weave together on their own. There’s no need to force it. I nourish my body with fresh fruits and country eggs (still with barn hay and muck stuck to them). I set off on the dusty road for a long walk and light jog. I leave my iPod with frantic dance tracks at home. Instead, the bird song and buzz of nature spur me on. In the afternoon, I sit on the grass, at the edge of the cliff, and watch the rosellas and little brown birds peck at the seed in the feeder. I breathe in fresh air, in, out, in, out, deeply and wholly. My mind is clear, my spirit is lifted. It all happens so naturally, while all I do is ‘be’.

Then, when I’m rested and revived, I step inside mum’s warm home and tell her how much I love her. I hug The Lad, thrilled that he is spending his week off with me. I pick up little black Bella and kiss her tiny, soft head.

This is living.

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