After a while, the inky black pattern of Willow, mirrored across the shimmering surface of River, draws and absorbs my gaze, as might a Bodhisattva icon in meditation practice.

My eye follows the circumference, jagged as a coastline, with twists and turns like bays and peninsulas. For this is a fractal pattern, infinitely complex, self-similar, repeating on every scale. I am drawn deeper, following the sweep of the whole, the endless detail of each inlet, attending to nothing but the way Willow reflects in River.

Otter swims upstream, head just above the surface, leaving a V-shaped wake. The Willow reflection bobs about with the passing rhythm of concentric waves.

Moments later, a breath of wind ripples the water, overlaying a new, chaotic, pattern. The original clarity of reflection is lost. These interventions of Otter and Wind break the spell and allow me to see and be moved by what I have been seeing. It’s both disturbing of the experience and at the same time, fascinating, amusing, drawing a smile of recognition.

Writing of this encounter, I am reminded of a previous one, early one morning in the winter of 2022. This visit was not at first propitious: I had struggled to get out of bed for my early visit; as I drove to River, I was irritated by the bright lights of the commuter traffic; once I arrived, I saw that, even though it was before dawn, people were up and about, exercising and walking dogs already: not the still dark quiet I was seeking. Reluctantly, I pushed on across the field, I wondered, “What is this strange old man doing, walking in the dark, to stand on a narrow piece of land between the two rivers?”

I arrived at my spot still wondering, “What have I come for?”; and I tell myself, “I’m simply here to be present”; but my attention drifts away, and trains rumbling across the bridge distract me further. Should I give up, go home and back to bed?

But then Owl calls, drawing me to settle down on the bank and speak to River. I tell how I have been preoccupied with my own disturbances, my own self-absorption; how this sustains a sense of separation, me ‘in here’ and the world ‘out there’. Quite suddenly, I find words pouring out spontaneously: “I’m sorry.... My heart is full of sorrow.... I don’t know where we must turn.... The way we have treated the world is appalling. We have lied to ourselves about what we’ve done. And we continue to lie. A very profound level of lying, of self-deception, of self-deceit.... and we keep on doing so”. I didn’t expect to say that; I didn’t expect to know all this this morning.

These words take me deeper in relation to River; I am now more present, less self-conscious. I pour my morning tea and first offer a few drops into the water along with a crumb of flapjack, all the while continuing to talk. Another train rattles over the bridge, carriage lights flashing in the water. Then darkness closes in again, and my attention is drawn to Willow tree across River and kis reflection in the still water.

As I gaze at this I drop into a mystery: I become aware of a semi-circle of darkness, formed by the shadows of trees and bushes on my left, taking in the far riverbank, returning to the willow stump on my right. This ring encircles a pool of darkly silvered water. In the middle, on the far bank, Willow Tree stands tall, winter-naked, dark filigree against the sky, throwing a delicate but distinct reflection in the mirrorwater, shimmering black against silver. And I am sitting in the middle, at the centre what I can only call a sacred aesthetic or sacred geometry, which draws me into ever-greater presence.

My mind still flutters with distraction, I’m still munching on my flapjack, but I have arrived. I feel totally present. I am sitting in a wondrous beauty, in this dark semi-circle of shadow with this delicate but distinct silhouette of the willow tree shimmering lightly black against silver. In the background I hear the hum of the highway, and I imagine another semicircle behind me, a circle of civilization that draws me away from the mystery. Yet the moment is delicate. Every time my critical mind tells me, “Oh, you’re making too much of this....” I am pulled back, intimately, to this pattern of black on dark silver. I sit there, absorbed and arrested.

In both these encounters, the veil that covers the everyday world with its ‘in here’ and ‘out there’, its preoccupations and distractions, is lifted, so I participate in a world of more immediate presence. How can we make sense of this kind of experience? The call of owl can be seen as an ontopoetic event in which the world actively responds to my presence and intention. But my experience of the Willow reflection is better understood as an experience of wonder and enchantment, so well described by Patrick Curry.

The experience at the heart of enchantment is sheer existential wonder, and it comes, as William James… noticed, “as a gift or not at all.” There is no place for willing, making, or consciously doing here, so enchantment and activities like these are immiscible, like oil and water, even when they are circumstantially entangled. The appropriate attitude to it was therefore nicely summed up by Freya Stark… as “fearless receptivity.”[i]

Curry goes on the write that ‘wonder is how we experience life when we are truest to it, which is something that happens most often in moments of enchantment’. These moments are ‘short but deep’ just as my encounters with Willow. They are always relational, so that ‘the experience reveals… the intrinsic value of the enchanting other, free from all market, utilitarian, or instrumentalist calculations.’

In neither of my experiences were wonder and enchantment willed or expected. I turned up, opened space in my mind, acknowledged the living presence around me, with no expectations – although once the experiences were under way I was able to use my intention to stay with and allow them to fully take their course. I attended to details – the way River collects so much light and reflects it back; how darkness enhances light, light darkness; the call of Owl – and dropped deeper to an experience that would not have been available had I been walking past in everyday haste, absorbed in my own thoughts, or listening with headphones.

I was enthralled, but also aware that I’m enthralled, and so allow myself to go deeper into the experience.

[i] Curry, P. (2024). Enchantment, Modernity, and Reverence for Nature. In J. Gray & E. Crist (Eds.), Cohabiting Earth: Seeking a Bright Future for All Life. SUNY Press. Also here