Terra Divina

The practice of Close-up (Terra Divina)[1] is in four steps:

Step one is lectio. This is reading the text of the landscape. Like reading a book, except now it’s another language that you are reading – of clouds and birds and trees and sunlight. Here we are beginning to open ourselves up to the truth, wisdom, or gift that the landscape may be offering us. Let’s imagine you are going for a walk in the woods. You are beginning to create space for something to catch your attention. You become aware of the various sensations you feel, noticing the places where your attention lingers. Perhaps there’s a breeze, and you notice that your attention keeps coming back to the sound and the motion of the leaves on the trees. This, you sense, may be a gift to you – although you don’t know why.

Step two is meditatio. This is meditation, the stage where the mind is most active. Here we begin to wonder why whatever has caught our attention might have done so, and why it might be a gift to us. The gift may be a difficult one, but we can trust that in time it may indeed become a gift. The leaves have caught your attention. You notice that most of the leaves are not breaking off, but are held by branches which themselves are swaying, taking the shock of the wind into themselves. Perhaps the truth or gift here is that you too are being held.

Step three is oratio. This is prayer or yearning. Here we let the natural world work within us. So now let whatever has caught your attention (the physical sight, sound or sensation – not your thoughts about it) carry your prayers or yearnings. As things come to mind you let them be carried by the simple presence of this element of the natural world. So you let the sight and sound (or later in the day the memory of the sight or sound) of the branches absorbing the destructive power of the wind, absorb the destructive power of whatever is concerning you.

Step four is contemplatio. This is contemplation or presence. This can be like stepping into warm sunlight. It can also feel like nothing. In my experience both sensations are normal and good. Here you let go of whatever has caught your attention, and enjoy the sense of being alive, of being held, of being at one with everything. Some experience this as being held in a benevolent universe. In the ancient Jesus tradition this is understood as being in the presence of the community of God, the Holy Trinity. So now you close your eyes and let the sound of the wind in the leaves and the sensation of the breeze on your face work within you. After a few minutes there may be a hint that, as the great English mystic Mother Julian of Norwich discovered through her own practice of earth divina, ‘all will be well and all manner of things will be well.’

[1] Ian Adams, Running over rocks, p14-16. Canterbury Press, Norwich; 2013