Primeval Home

More often than seems reasonable, life becomes terribly unsorted. Time is at once compressed and drawn out. Difficulties take on a sense of permanence as if turned to stone monuments in homage of chaos and suffering. At these times I am thin and taught as overstretched twine on verge of breaking and I must retreat. There is no great dramatic tantrum, just a quite slipping away unnoticed, a getaway. I take to the woods.

On my Zen adventures to the forest I favor the longer, less traveled path. It is there I most often find solace and healing. This day I travel slow and quite in a walking meditation down the gentle slope to the forest floor, which is now covered with the varied colors of the dieing and fallen foliage. The crisp air is filled with the fragrance of their decay mixed with the sent of pine and the damp sweet smell of sugar maples. The walkway is littered with the discarded remains of acorns and walnuts, and crimson colored berry seed droppings. The thick fallen cover is a flurry of playful activity.

When I have reached a place where I no longer hear the sound of 50 mile and hour tires on pavement, where all I can hear is bird song and the chirp and whistle of chipmunks and squirrels, I stop. Standing very still in perfect patience while all of nature becomes used to my presence and eventually decides I belong, this world opens up to me. As I become lost in observation the forest takes me in. The chipmunks rustle through the leaves and chase one another, tumbling and rolling together and darting away. Birds hop through bottoms of bushes whose branches still shelter fruit, devouring a dwindling harvest.

Something just at the corner of my eye, grabs my attention and I become aware that the observer is being observed. A stag with an impressive head, boasting a rack of about eight points, stands in the path and takes a full assessment of me as we look straight on at one another. Deciding I’m neither friend nor foe and of no consequence, he turns and makes his way down the ravine, and in a single graceful stride jumps the stream and disappears into the forest on the other side.

The chipmunks have begun to play what I call dodge the human; chasing each other across the path closer and closer. Certain brave little ones stop and look at me, then scurry off and dive into the leaves with a triumphant whistle. I feel I have become part of their happy little game.

Already the day, the walk, has proved to be a worthwhile venture. Lost in contemplation of the chipmunk games and the higher meaning of the encounter with the buck, I'm pulled from thought by a red tail hawk that soars past so close the displaced air hits my face and ruffles wisps of hair. I am startled for an instant, then awestruck and honored as I watch it land less than 10 yards away. The pull of the forest deepens and I sit down on the hard leaf covered ground so that I might be taken further in. I track the hawk as it moves on to it’s next lofty seat. The new vantage allows it to face me and it watches me as intently as I watch it. Am I so fascinating to the wild master of the air? No. It is more likely eying the chipmunk that has planted himself barely two feet in front of me. While I watch the hawk another creature watches me. He is chirping a low sweet musical tone that is answered rhythmically from all over the forest floor. This music circles and moves through me. I feel I know it and could sing along as I try to find the sound in my throat. The connection seems almost within reach and then is lost. The little one scurries off and down inside a hollowed tree branch; the hawk is on the move.

Spontaneous waves of joy and laughter take me. I know I have found myself a treasure, a perfect moment. I have touched, rejoined for an instant, some primal origin. The sense of comfort is warm and inviting as a soft favorite blanket. The desire to curl up and lay down overtakes me and I do lay down as if in someone’s arms, on a lap, ear against a beating heart. The cold earth warms me, takes me in to protect and nurture me. I am in the bosom of the forest where I wish to stay and sleep in peace without dreams.

Someone is coming. I hear them through the earth before I hear them through the air. The rustling and thudding steal the moment; break the spell. The forest falls quiet except for the sound of human foot fall coming up the path. I pull myself out of my deep meditative state and up off the ground to stand on the path. I have barely regained myself when the hiker comes trampling through. He looks alien and out of place to me. I yield the way and he sports a startled expression when he looks at me while passing. I am not sure what about me is so startling. Looking up through the trees, I decide to head back now that the reverie is broken. I think on the experiences while continuing a sense of meditation as I find my return path.

When I reach the trailhead, the welcome sight of the lovely convenience of a restroom distracts me entirely. The further convenience of a mirror gives me the answer to a previous question. I am struck by shock and wonder as I see in the mirror what the hiker saw. My hair has come partially loose from its ponytail in unruly tendrils, my cheek smudged, earthy needles and leaves are attached to my clothing and hair. I am an unholy mess. I think of the look on the hikers face and erupt with laughter.

I look like the wild forest herself. I am she and she is I. The forest, the earth, is my origin, my true being, and my primeval home. One day she will take me to her perfectly and completely. She will pull me into the beautiful darkness, the soundless, dreamless sleep, into the place from which I came and gladly must return, into the bosom of all life.

Until then, I am the forest on feet.
I am playful and daring as the chipmunk.
I am strong and stoic as the stag.
I am watchful and quick as the hawk, the master of the air.
I am as wild, as hard, as yielding, as giving, as nurturing, and as sacred as the earth.

Blessed Be