Beneath me, the flat, moss-covered boulder supports my entire body, a crucible cupping me on my journey within. The sunlight softly caresses my face and stomach, contrasting the coolness of my rock-womb.

Behind closed eyelids, I observe BLUE of a greater intensity than the clear sky I know is above me. Seven deep breaths, and I open my mouth in a full circle, beginning the initial, deep syllable "ahhhhhhhhhhh" of the chant of OM. On the protracted middle note, a tonal ringing begins in my solar plexus; clear and loud, a bronze bell sounding forth, overcoming the emission of my throat. I wonder: Could others hear this sound, or is it a resonance within that is perceived only by my inner ear’s vibration? The drawn-out "mmmmm" buzzes my lips against my teeth, an irritating tingle until my mind adjusts to the sensation. I chant six times more, and cease to notice the distant drone of an airplane.

A gentle breeze tangos across my arms, and goose bumps curtsey and join the dance. The creek to my left is the orchestra. The rock-falls farther downstream vary the rhythm, but beside my meditation boulder the music of the water rises and falls in a sweet waltz.

It is the day of my birth, plus 48 years. I rise to a sitting position on my stone encampment, open my eyes, and see the creek-bed meander before me, like the path of my life yet to be. I watch the water stir branches, and think of my touch upon those in my life: sometimes gentle, circles of love rippling outward; sometimes forceful, vortexes of emotion swirling haphazardly.

I reach for my journal and sketch the outlines of the bank – it’s ferns, leaves and wildflowers dipping to the flow, conjuring images of the tasks of life that constantly wave for attention. I draw the branches that impede, creating currents which push and shove across the lichen-and-algae covered river stone, just as problems push and shove for solutions.

Below the rocks, the water cascades into a deeper pool which is perfectly still. This is me, when I am centered. I label my drawing, PEACE.

On the next white page, I title:

As I open my eyes to dawn’s rosy hue and the accompanying birdsong, I give thanks.
For sustenance and bounty, and for all the gifts of Mother Earth, I give thanks.
With each breath I am renewed, healed, awakened, and I give thanks.
As I am greeted throughout this day by creatures large and small, I give thanks.
For the path that I walk today, guided by your presence, I give thanks.
With each test of my patience, I remember your love, reflect upon my light, and I give thanks.
And, at night when I sleep, my heart rushes home to you. For this, I give thanks.

I wonder: If humans took more time to be in the solitude of the forest, would they show more respect for the earth? If every person, everywhere, took a few a few hours each year on the day they were born to connect with the Mother, would the public’s cavalier attitudes toward pollution and clear-cutting change? And, why do we allot such little time for practices such as this that renew our souls?

To conclude my meditation, I manifest on the page what I want to compose in the next year of my life. Many are refrains from previous songs of past years, but I want them to have a wider range in the symphony in progress. I want to resonate with the praise and the glory of the Creator ringing forth from the belly of my being.