When the Reader Becomes the Read

Sep 13

2 min read

Sometimes I have to get out of the room.

Away from the noise.

Away from everyone else's questions.

And somewhere I can sit quietly enough to hear my own.

This is where I come to self-reflect.

Because I don't just read flowers.

I read the little things we walk past every day.

A line in a face.

A flower that catches your attention for no obvious reason.

The way a ley line might be noticed through the hands.

The moment your lips touch the rim of a coffee cup and suddenly you notice the pattern left behind.

And then there is Country.

The ancients don't always arrive with an answer.

Sometimes they arrive as a question.

So when I'm sitting somewhere like this, I might ask:

What is this landscape showing me that I haven't been willing to notice?

If I stopped trying to understand everything, what would I actually feel?

What keeps catching my eye — and why?

What am I seeing because I'm looking for it?

What am I not seeing because I've already decided what it means?

If nature didn't need to explain itself to me, could I simply sit with it?

And perhaps the biggest one...

What changes when I stop looking for the answer and become curious about the question?

That's where my readings begin.

Not necessarily with certainty.

With noticing.

With curiosity.

With a willingness to let the little things speak before I decide what they mean.

Maybe that's what self-reflection really is.

Not finding another answer.

Asking a better question.

Keep a lid on it.

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