I attended a mindfulness program eight or so years ago. Relevant to the teachings on tap, one afternoon we were encouraged to go outside and be present to some object in nature, to move toward whatever called to us and relate to it fully. It didn't matter what the thing was or why we chose it. Just relate to a thing for a while was the gist of the instruction.  

In the spirit of cynicism and doubt, I thought it was a silly exercise. I wanted more information so I could do it right. When I started moving toward the corner of a small barn style garage/shed, I turned away from it because that seemed boring and therefore wrong. It was a warm summer day, so a walk in the creek would make sense. 

There were two people there already, and, in the spirit of self-importance and irritability, I wanted them not to be. They were talking, and I wanted to focus. I walked toward a little bridge we had all driven over to get to the retreat center. Halfway between the bridge and me in the center of the creek was a very large rock. I thought, ok great, here is a rock. Let me relate to it. 

Sarcasm, check. 

I sat on the rock. My back was to the bridge at first, but after a half hour I swiveled around to face it. Curious thoughts began displacing the sarcastic ones. I wondered how many people had crossed this bridge since the retreat center was built in the 70s. I imagined older then newer cars, young hippie type passengers then people with current dress and hairstyles. Then I wondered about the imagined peoples' demographics - gender, race, occupation, hometown. Then, their personal stories... 

Eventually, I got tired of sitting the way I was - my butt and back hurt - so I slid into the water and put my arms around the rock. I had kind of forgotten about it. Come back to the rock. Relate to the rock. I was half standing half wading in the shallow water, leaning on the rock for support. I could kick my legs a bit - that felt better. I put my cheek on the rock - it was a mix of warm from the sun and cool and hard like rocks tend to be.

After registering the feel of the rock on my face, my sense of the environment relaxed and opened to include trees all around, prayer flags hanging from them spanning the creek, the harmless couple barely audible 150 feet behind me, the feel of the water moving around the rock and me. It all started to feel good - there was nothing wrong - and I began to cry. 

Why was I crying? It happens sometimes when I thoroughly relax and realize how preemptively tightly I've been holding myself and therefore narrowly seeing the world when nothing's really wrong. This rock had been present, albeit maybe upstream somewhere, long before this retreat center morphed out of a dairy farm. It was just a rock, yet had been here - witnessing? - as thousands of people drove across the nearby bridge with their various hopes, fears, dreams, and aspirations to be better people. 

At some point, I realized I was so liking this rock! I continued anthropomorphizing - it had seen so much in its time and was now tending to the softening of my thoughts and feelings. I can't mince words - I began to love this rock with all my heart for all its qualities, appreciating its vantage point and longevity. I was hopelessly attached after two hours. I didn't want to leave when it was time to go.

There's a video of several couples spending time looking at one another; they range from strangers to a long married couple. They're not talking for the most part, not gearing up for some mindblowing moment, just willing to stay and relate to one another in silence. It strikes me as the non-rock version of the above, and so, brings tears to my eyes. It's assumed that we pay attention to each other, make eye contact, recognize what's actually happening in our environments and the people therein. 

But do we, really? 

Therapists generally offer such attention, eye contact, recognition. It can be overwhelming for clients to show up to be seen, much as they might think they want or deserve to be or, conversely, much as they might prefer to continue to live life as if an unaware overlookable rock. My sincere respect to clients for showing up to a process like this, to be seen and related to, however that looks and feels.

There are of course many ways to show up - to be seen and to be the seer - that don't require a license or diagnosis, a bunch of paperwork, and a financial exchange. They range from the strange and unlikely to the intimate and spiritual. The older I get, the more I appreciate all the ways I am on both sides and many levels of this seeing - this relating to things and beings as they are (which isn't always lovely) - often without any planning or pretense, and always without lasting attachment. 

So here's to relating, really experiencing, whatever or whomever comes into view today - not ignoring or engaging in any particular way to anything or anyone - and then letting go and moving on. Whether with a light touch of acknowledgement or with unexpected deep caring (or aversion), may your interactions with your surroundings involve your heart in some way, for better and worse, right and wrong, and be as enriching an exercise for you as it was for the rock and me.