Walking Practice
By Mana'ar Johnson
To fly abroad like active bees,
Among the hedges and the trees,
To cull the dew that lies
On ev’ry blade,
From ev’ry blossom; till we lade
Our minds, as they their thighs.
What a fine metaphor! Just as the insects load themselves with pollen from touching each flower, so may we fill our minds with beauty that we gather from seeing each flower, the dew on each leaf. The poet asks us to heed the pleasures of love and praise that we may gather, simply “from viewing herbs and trees.”
The “sacred manuscript of nature,” such a delight! But only if we open our hearts and consciousness to its glories as we walk through it. Otherwise, our legs are just sticks of wood, like the wheels of a cart that move from place to place without ever seeing what’s around them.In our path we develop the capacity to know the qualities of God, not just within, but all around us. Ya Majid! We invoke the glory. Ya Wajid! We invoke the bliss. Ya Kabir! We invoke the vastness.
Our own word wizards explain how nature expands us. From Physicians of the Heart:
Al-Majid is like the light of the rising sun. When it arises, the more you are lost in admiration, the more it illuminates your mental horizons. The wider the horizon of your experience, the farther your spiritual eye can see. It is a beauty that none can tell who have not experienced it in their soul, an effulgence that manifests and enlightens.
Today, let us be mindful of the beauty and of its source, as we observe “all the things we meet, How choice and rich they be.”
Mana’ar Johnson, on the poem “Walking” by English poet Thomas Traherne (1636-1674)
Walking
To walk abroad is, not with eyes,
But thoughts, the fields to see and prize;
Else may the silent feet,
Like logs of wood,
Move up and down, and see no good
Nor joy nor glory meet.
Ev’n carts and wheels their place do change,
But cannot see, though very strange
The glory that is by;
Dead puppets may
Move in the bright and glorious day,
Yet not behold the sky.
And are not men than they more blind,
Who having eyes yet never find
The bliss in which they move;
Like statues dead
They up and down are carried
Yet never see nor love.
To walk is by a thought to go;
To move in spirit to and fro;
To mind the good we see;
To taste the sweet;
Observing all the things we meet
How choice and rich they be.
To note the beauty of the day,
And golden fields of corn survey;
Admire each pretty flow’r
With its sweet smell;
To praise their Maker, and to tell
The marks of his great pow’r.
To fly abroad like active bees,
Among the hedges and the trees,
To cull the dew that lies
On ev’ry blade,
From ev’ry blossom; till we lade
Our minds, as they their thighs.
Observe those rich and glorious things,
The rivers, meadows, woods, and springs,
The fructifying sun;
To note from far
The rising of each twinkling star
For us his race to run.
A little child these well perceives,
Who, tumbling in green grass and leaves,
May rich as kings be thought,
But there’s a sight
Which perfect manhood may delight,
To which we shall be brought.
While in those pleasant paths we talk,
’Tis that tow’rds which at last we walk;
For we may by degrees
Wisely proceed
Pleasures of love and praise to heed,
From viewing herbs and trees.