When walking alone in nature for long periods of time something wonderful happens.
The mind, generally so full of it's own diatribe, begins to s l o w down and the senses atune to the rhythm of life all around.
In the trees overhead, an avian fillabuster worthy of parliamant is in full force. The wind whispers of her ongoing love affair with tree and cloud. The bees buzz, matchmakers for flowers, busily dancing from bloom to bloom. Squirrels scurry amidst branches, hurriedly racing from perch to perch.
As the mind settles it's inward churning, a subtle shift takes place. The listener, as a distinct other, no longer exists. There is no "me" and nature, there is just T H I S... this grand arising, exactly as it is. The "me" is simply another note played through the unique instrument of self. A note in the vast and indescribably beautiful symphony of life.