This woman never steps in the same river twice

And learns a lot from it!

For the last month, I’ve been visiting my local wood almost every day — minus a few days when the weather felt a little too dramatic for devotion. These winter visits are part of a quiet commitment I made: to build a real relationship with the Living World.

It’s become something I genuinely look forward to. A place that enriches me in small, steady ways.

It’s not a grand forest. Just a very modest patch of woodland amongst a suburban sprawl, mostly frequented by friendly dog walkers and their equally friendly dogs, plus the occasional boisterous after-school boys who leave burnt-out deodorant canisters and snack wrappers lying around for me to dutifully collect and recycle. But more often than not, it’s simply me and the birds, the trees, the plants, squirrels, water, insects, earth, wind, sun all together, enjoying each other’s company.

The lessons so far aren’t dramatic. No lightning bolts. Nothing that would make a viral TED Talk. But they are significant to my lived experience.

The first is humbling.

I sometimes make small, childlike natural art offerings from things I find on the ground — a spiral of leaves, a little sculpture of twigs — as a gesture of gratitude for the space holding me. But I’ve begun to realise that each day the wood already offers a plethora of beauty beyond anything I could add, I really cannot improve upon it.

It’s quietly profound to recognise that the Living World does not need me to decorate it. It is already complete. My role is not to enhance, but to participate with respect and reverence to what already is.

One of my favourite rituals is to sit back and watch the very tops of the tallest trees sway. In winter they’re bare, their branches exposed like intricate calligraphy against the sky. When the wind moves through them, they dance — sometimes wildly, sometimes almost imperceptibly. I didn’t expect to look forward to this daily treetop performance as much as I do. On still days, I marvel at their stillness. On windy days, I marvel at their wild dance.

Which brings me neatly to my second lesson, borrowed from the ancient Greek Heraclitus:

“No man ever steps in the same river twice.”

Now that I return to the exact same patch of earth each day, I experience this powerful truth.

Each time I show up, I am different.
Each time I show up, the wood is different.

One day the wind howls and everything shimmers and bend. The sound is loud and alive, a wild orchestra. The next day it is almost entirely still. The stillness is so complete it feels sacred. On those days, the only sensible response is to match it — to sit quietly, thoughtless, letting the silence soothe me.

Other days bring drizzle, or mud, or a teasing ray of sunlight hinting at spring. The birdsong is constant, yet never identical. Even my sense of smell, never my strongest sense, is slowly awakening to subtle differences — damp earth, decaying leaves, the faint sweetness of something unseen.

Nothing is static.

I have long believed that change is not only good but inevitable. Everything in the universe is in dynamic transition. It is only humans who attempt to freeze time, to resist transformation, to deny endings. We seem uniquely uncomfortable with impermanence. I love Japanese culture, in part, because of it’s appreciation of impermanence.

When discussing the inevitability of change with clients or in workshops, I usually break into my best Dalek impression: “Resistance is futile. Resistance is futile.” It makes me laugh! But it holds an important truth!

The Living World does not resist change. The trees do not mourn their leaves in autumn. The soil does not cling to last season’s growth. Growth and decay unfold without complaint. There is no visible anguish or suffering in the cycle.

We, on the other hand, judge change. We negate it. We attach meaning to it. We resist it and create unnecessary suffering.

In the wood, I witness a different model. Acceptance. Flow. A radical non-judgement, that I am reminded of each time I speak with the Living World. Everything follows its nature. Everything participates in the dance of transformation.

When I enter the wood each day, nothing is the same. And yet everything is exactly as it should be. There is no struggle to hold yesterday in place. No demand that tomorrow arrive faster. Just this moment, fully lived.

If I’m honest, the wood has become a friend to me, one I look forward to spending quality time with — benevolent and always there when I need it. It asks nothing of me. It is always gracious when I show up. But, in order to come into relationship, I need to pay attention. Let go of the thinking mind, I need to soften enough to listen. I am genuinely enjoying the softening of my edges through this relationship.

If you would like to learn more about yourself, I can recommend finding a patch of living earth near you. Visit it daily. Go without agenda. Ask quietly to learn with humility. Be open and respectful.

Be patient and drop your expectations; the living world often communicates in different and unexpected ways.

But if you stay, if you keep returning, something shifts.

You begin to realise you were never separate or static. You are a part of the wild and beautiful dance and flow of life. The Living Earth changes invisibly moment by moment and you with it.

If you enjoyed reading this, please remember to like, comment and share! Each small acknowledgment really means a lot to me and I am grateful for all engagement!