The Slow Lane…
“I stood still, paralysed by the beauty and the magic of this moment. Everything stopped, even my breath. Like a sloth, I didn’t want to move. There was nowhere else I needed or wanted to be. Standing there absorbing the beauty of this place, I stepped out of time. In this timeless moment, I saw and felt the unity of all things. There it was all around me: the chaos of the natural world, silently woven into a tapestry of exquisite, perfect order. I felt at one with the trees, rocks, plants, birds, insects, squirrels, leaves, and water. A witness to this sacred scene…
So this is what the slow lane is about, I realised. Sipping and savouring tiny moment, stopping the clock and slipping out of time, feeling my own heart begin to synchronise with the rhythms of nature…”
Not a soul in sight, only the sound of the wind, the birds and the water. Even though the skies were grey, clouds scudding through at a rate of knots, with more than a hint of rain in the air, it was a moment to stop. To step into the slow lane. To watch the clear water swirl, trickle, stream, spurt and gurgle its way down the fell side, over the stones and into the reservoir. Each droplet a story. To watch the ripples tremble on the surface. Timeless. All that it was, is now, and will be again.
I sit, remove my boots and dip my feet in the cool water. Watch in fascination as it eddies around this human obstruction. I flex my toes, and all the refreshing vitality of the liquid seeps into my bones. Out of the corner of my eye I spy a gaggle of geese, working their way along the grass bordering the reservoir, nibbling feverishly at the vegetation. I return my gaze to the water before slowly closing my eyes, concentrating solely on its song, and gentle caress. Gradually my heartbeat slows; I lie back, open my eyes and watch the passing clouds, cocooned in the slow lane.
Feet dried, boots back on, I stood, transfixed by the babbling water, not wanting to leave; the growing persistence of the rain advised otherwise. Heading on around the reservoir, I followed the track past the slopes of tree stumps and ‘brash’, stark monuments to logging. The sound of running water drew me on, and, tracing the water-course back up the fell, I noticed, dotted on the crest, sheep and their lambs, seemingly oblivious to the oncoming rain, and me. The trail wound its way, twisting and turning, sandwiched as it was between the water’s edge and the fell, with all its ‘inlets’ and landslips, small rocks strewn across the path. But the possibility of a twisted ankle wasn’t the reason I walked slowly. I was in the slow lane. Each footstep a measured pace giving time to look, time to see, time to hear…feel. The cackle of geese, the bleating of lambs, gusts of wind swirling around, sending ripples over the water’s surface, the colours of lichen clinging to rocks, raindrops on my skin. Small details of a larger tapestry. A tapestry that would be incomplete if I hurried; if I wasn’t in the slow lane. As I neared the completion of my circular route, the dam and reservoir spillway came into view. A fresh cast of players; swallows and house-martins diving and barrelling over the water before swooping skywards.
A dog barked. The spell was broken. I turned through the gate, and began walking along the dam roadway. Snippets of conversation drifted on the wind. Fellow slow-laners. We nodded in passing. Another hundred yards and I was at the car. I looked round; the darkest of the clouds had breezed through, taking the worst of the rain showers with it. Still time before I rejoined civilisation. The ritual of coffee making. Savouring the moment, the aroma snaking upwards. Steaming mug in hand, I settle by the water. Not quite time to step out of the slow lane.
“If you’re having difficulty coming up with new ideas, then slow down. For me, slowing down has been a tremendous source of creativity. It has allowed me to open up – to know that there’s life under the earth and that I have to let it come through me in a new way. Creativity exists in the present moment. You can’t find it anywhere else.”
Life can get so hectic - there’s a feeling that we always have to be busy. But, being constantly on the go, prevents me from pausing, noticing…and it’s in the noticing that I find my creativity. More ‘slow lane’ please…