Embodied Creativity

Microseason No. 35, July 28-Aug 1

On my working days, I’m a nurse, and on my days off, I’m a naturalist.  Gradually, I’ve come to see myself as a naturalist who does a little nursing on the side. I’m grateful to have this rhythm in my days.

This two-part vocation came to be when I doubled-down on my nature walks during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic. Back then, the dental practice where I worked was shut-down for months, along with all such practices across the United States.

I worried that my calling— the specialized kind of nursing that I loved and had worked so hard to learn— was being taken away. Would dentistry ever come back?

If I did return to work, how would I handle caring for and connecting with my patients through N-95 masks, face shields and multiple uncomfortable layers of PPE?

As a frontline caregiver working all day in patients’ mouths, would I get sick?

There was so much we didn’t know.

I’m sure you also had a multitude of your own urgent fears.

Uncertainty breeds anxiety. The mind can feel like a frightening hall of mirrors. Worrisome thoughts distort the truth and carry us into imaginary and catastrophic futures, or drag us back, replaying sad stories from our past over and over.

But wherever the mind may wander, the body is always here— isn’t it?

To be em-bodied is to be present in my body on this day, in this unique moment. Most of the time, the present moment is pretty good. I’m safe. I’m fine. I can use my body’s truth to help calm my mind. The body’s senses are such a help in this way.

During the lock-down, whenever I’d wake up unable to sleep in the middle of the night, I’d choose a favorite old album and listen to it all the way through.

Listening to beloved tunes in the dark and quiet through my headphones made an immersive soundscape and calmed my fears. I’d appreciate the music in new ways, and this attentive listening gave me courage.

True peace of mind.

Music has power to heal.

My son, my dog, and I: three early morning forest creatures.

During the day, contemplative walking in nature was another way to be fully present in my body and in my five senses. It also quieted the fearful voices in my mind. I would intently look for something new on the trail to spark my curiosity and I’d snap a photo of it.

Later at home, I could learn about that new plant or insect. I felt inspired to work with the photos in creative ways. I started drawing and painting what I’d seen. Soon, I discovered the ancient idea of observing the microseasons, which felt so nourishing and life-giving. Then I started this Substack!

You may be wondering: What is contemplative hiking? Doesn’t contemplative mean “looking at things?” Isn’t all hiking contemplative?

For my contemplative hiking practice, I choose to focus on the word “temple” that’s contained within this term. When I hike contemplatively, I am in a temple of wonder and creation. I’m walking with a loving God, who is continuously creating, decomposing, and re-creating the natural world all around me. This creative life force is everywhere— in every cell of our bodies, in every microseason, and in every moment of our lives.

I often pair my hike with a meditation practice. For me, this is Contemplative Prayer, which is a simple, lovely ancient form of prayer that I’ve practiced for over 20 years. Maybe I’ll write about that more sometime.

These practices continue to serve me well.

To be fully creative, I need to find ways to stay embodied here and now. In this moment— in this microseason— that is where creativity and the wild holiness of God live for me.

I’ve been experimenting with adding layers of pressed plant material to my sketchbook paintings.

Do you have any favorite embodied creative practices?

I’m slowly trying to make a one-piece life of creativity. A one-piece life is like a web all woven together. There’s no spiritual life without ordinary life and vice-versa. It’s what we lovingly do all day for others— and in private just for ourselves.

Walking in nature has become my prayer. Caring for patients is my prayer. Cooking supper, bathing my dog, pressing plants, drawing and painting— these are my prayers.

If you agree, I think you might enjoy the podcast episode linked below.

It’s all prayer.

—Scott Avett

Contemplify podcast, July 19, 2023

Here is a photo of my hiking accountability partner. He’s one of the monastery bells that calls me to get away from my desk several times a day.

And I’ll leave you with a poem that really speaks to me, called “Say It” by Joyce Sutphen.

Say that it is the continuous life
you desire, that one day might stretch into
the next without a seam, without seeming
to move one minute away from the past
or that in passing through whatever comes

you keep coming to the faces you love,
never leaving them entirely behind.

Say that it is simply a wish to waste
time forever, lingering with the friends
you’ve gathered together, a gradual
illumination traveling the spine,
eyes brimming with the moment that is now.

Say that it is the impulse of the soul
to endure forever.

Say it again.

See you in the next microseason,

—Ann