I have been out of consistent bush walking for 2 weeks now, and already, I long for the stable solitude of forest. Where, in its ever-changing fluidity, all-weather-extreme state of morph, ebb, and flow, it held the most consistent patterns I’d ever experienced.
Nature always kept her promises to me. She promised me that nothing would be easy, and nothing ever was. She committed to challenging me, and with her magnificent roots and vertical descents and gradients, she did.
She whispered through the wind in my hair that she would never stay the same, that from one day to the next, she would evolve, progress, and take part in her personal revolution. That she would learn and leap and express every emotion she ever felt. And in her change, she displayed pattern; in her variety, she was constant. Through her unknowing and inclination to absorb, to modify, to adapt, she knew all.
She held the key to the ultimate book of knowledge in her palms. And because she refused to hold onto anything, understanding that by opening the book, and knowing - she would therefore un-know; for knowledge is merely the false assumption that anything can truly be understood. Those who claim to know steal the wisdom of mystery, of diversity, of evolution. So, because she left the ultimate book closed, choosing to learn slowly by books that made guesses at life, because she set all keys and beings free, and simply watched as the Earth spun on its axis and all expression of beings took place, all stayed within her. Because she let go, everything returned. Because she owned and desired nothing, all was hers and all desired to be so.
Nature promised that within the expansive freedom of solitude and silence, I would hear every scream, whimper, cry, and burst of laughter the Universe expressed. Because she never spoke, she incessantly imparted sagacity to my auricles.
Nature never protected me, for she perceived what other beings like to pretend isn’t true: that the only entity able to offer protection of self, is just that: ourselves. And protection exists only in stepping into the grand unknown of the big, wide world. That by baring our skin, exposed, unsheathed, naked and barefoot, faces turned toward the sky; by shedding our tiers of defensive armor and munitions meant to save from war but which only wage it, we are thus protected.
That by sitting cross-legged, palms open to come what may, by surrendering our imagined control, by setting free our generated requirements, prospect achievements and compulsive reveries, we open ourselves to the spontaneity of surfeit coincidental possibilities existent in the Universe.
Nature swore she would never support me, but that I could walk across her vacillating, unleveled ground as I sweat, ached and clawed my way toward experiences in supporting myself. Nature promised that all the hurt would heal; that every beauty held a thorn; that every sunrise inevitably gave birth to a sundown; and that every shooting star would do just that: Shoot across the firmament in scarcely enough time to experience its grandeur for half a moment, before darkness would once again occupy the space.
She promised me that in craving to lose weight while walking, I would inevitably gain, because each day my journey would be filled with growth and understanding and expansion of every kind. She promised that in allowing my heart to expand, my soul would grow wings and take flight. That in allowing myself to fully experience pain, I would stretch out spaces for joy. That growth and expansion meant leaving spaces I once stood, and leaving them forever.
Because those who fly, do not stand. Because once my soul tasted the wildness of freedom, she would never stay put. Because once I let go of all I placed value on, all would take its true form, show its inherent value. In nothing mattering, everything would. In allowing love to be what it was, I would give, and receive it, for possibly the very first time.
Nature promised me that by carrying more than I needed, I would exhaust myself long before the zenith of each ascent. She told me through my aches, pains, tears and rebellion, that anything I clung to, I would lose. That by giving everything up, I would hold the world in my hands. As I slowly shed baggage, both possessions and emotional memory, I became as weightless as a yellow petal from the Sunflower of whence I came.
She taught me that in letting go, I would bound up mountainsides. I would reach the top, where I would look for miles in all directions, spinning round with 360-degree views, soaring down from the top with freedom’s wings. In simply being me, I would laugh from deep within my soul, love whole-heartedly, and experience a life without boundary.
Nature promised that in rushing my healing, I would prevent any new forming skin. That in running up the mountain, I would entirely miss the view. That in looking ahead, I would never look around. That in planning the future, I would forever linger in the past. She promised that by hiking to the top, simply to see if the pasture was greener on the other side, I would lose the ability to understand ‘green’. I would over or under-water. I would forget to trust the rain. And if I always looked out at what was beyond, I would never see the green existing all around me, wherever I may be.
Nature promised me that in always speaking, I would lose my intuition, my tenderness, my empathy. She created space for me to experience silence, and in my reticence, in not talking; I spoke everything I needed to say. By experiencing silence of voice, she foreshadowed events long before they occurred. In her cautioning, she reminded me that the one who does not act, wins the imaginary game.
She held my pain while I writhed in the anguishing detox of letting it all go, and handed it back to me when I was ready to once again hold my pain, to face my wretchedness head-on. And by holding it with open palms, exactly as it was, by not placing judgment on how long it had stayed with me, or how many scars it had left, pain shed a tear for what we had shared, gathered his remnants, and soared into the ocean breeze. He left me lighter than when he had found me, for by experiencing pain so fully, I was intentionally cognizant that I was now all the more free.
Nature promised that with experience comes knowledge, and with knowing comes a great lack of it, and within that lack exists an accountability to trust. To allow it all to be, just what it is. Trust that due to the emptiness inside of me, I could be filled; filled with light and filled with peace. That in not attaching myself to the expectation of an outcome, the outcome would be just perfect for me. That in not defining perfectionism, all things would be inherently flawless, for their flaws created art and impeccable intrigue. All is “perfect within its sphere.”
Nature promised me that she would promise me nothing. She had nothing to swear to, because nothing truly exists. It is only our perception of it. She is ever changing, and in her change she is constant. She taught me that I own nothing. That nothing is. And in all of this non-being, everything exists. That there is only this:
This moment.
This precise moment, existing as a separate entity from this created concept of time. That existence, energy, and the present moment expand and roll far beyond the confines and limitations of description and understanding.
I am what I am.
It is what it is.
There is only this:
This moment.
And that, is why the wild wilderness will forever be what I call:
Home.
The lock of her door never takes the same key twice, her address changes each and every day. She runs and leaps, and in her infinite, exhausting movement, she is still. By not seeking her, I find her every day. It is simple: I look within. For what more of a home could I desire? Than that which inevitably exists beneath my beating chest.
I am one with nature. She is in me, and I in her. We are simply energy; an energetic consciousness basking ‘Neath the glory of the yellow morning Sun, experiencing love by the traces of the silver midnight moon. An experience. An awareness. A dream. A vibe.
X
Rachel
Nature always kept her promises to me. She promised me that nothing would be easy, and nothing ever was. She committed to challenging me, and with her magnificent roots and vertical descents and gradients, she did.
She whispered through the wind in my hair that she would never stay the same, that from one day to the next, she would evolve, progress, and take part in her personal revolution. That she would learn and leap and express every emotion she ever felt. And in her change, she displayed pattern; in her variety, she was constant. Through her unknowing and inclination to absorb, to modify, to adapt, she knew all.
She held the key to the ultimate book of knowledge in her palms. And because she refused to hold onto anything, understanding that by opening the book, and knowing - she would therefore un-know; for knowledge is merely the false assumption that anything can truly be understood. Those who claim to know steal the wisdom of mystery, of diversity, of evolution. So, because she left the ultimate book closed, choosing to learn slowly by books that made guesses at life, because she set all keys and beings free, and simply watched as the Earth spun on its axis and all expression of beings took place, all stayed within her. Because she let go, everything returned. Because she owned and desired nothing, all was hers and all desired to be so.
Nature promised that within the expansive freedom of solitude and silence, I would hear every scream, whimper, cry, and burst of laughter the Universe expressed. Because she never spoke, she incessantly imparted sagacity to my auricles.
Nature never protected me, for she perceived what other beings like to pretend isn’t true: that the only entity able to offer protection of self, is just that: ourselves. And protection exists only in stepping into the grand unknown of the big, wide world. That by baring our skin, exposed, unsheathed, naked and barefoot, faces turned toward the sky; by shedding our tiers of defensive armor and munitions meant to save from war but which only wage it, we are thus protected.
That by sitting cross-legged, palms open to come what may, by surrendering our imagined control, by setting free our generated requirements, prospect achievements and compulsive reveries, we open ourselves to the spontaneity of surfeit coincidental possibilities existent in the Universe.
Nature swore she would never support me, but that I could walk across her vacillating, unleveled ground as I sweat, ached and clawed my way toward experiences in supporting myself. Nature promised that all the hurt would heal; that every beauty held a thorn; that every sunrise inevitably gave birth to a sundown; and that every shooting star would do just that: Shoot across the firmament in scarcely enough time to experience its grandeur for half a moment, before darkness would once again occupy the space.
She promised me that in craving to lose weight while walking, I would inevitably gain, because each day my journey would be filled with growth and understanding and expansion of every kind. She promised that in allowing my heart to expand, my soul would grow wings and take flight. That in allowing myself to fully experience pain, I would stretch out spaces for joy. That growth and expansion meant leaving spaces I once stood, and leaving them forever.
Because those who fly, do not stand. Because once my soul tasted the wildness of freedom, she would never stay put. Because once I let go of all I placed value on, all would take its true form, show its inherent value. In nothing mattering, everything would. In allowing love to be what it was, I would give, and receive it, for possibly the very first time.
Nature promised me that by carrying more than I needed, I would exhaust myself long before the zenith of each ascent. She told me through my aches, pains, tears and rebellion, that anything I clung to, I would lose. That by giving everything up, I would hold the world in my hands. As I slowly shed baggage, both possessions and emotional memory, I became as weightless as a yellow petal from the Sunflower of whence I came.
She taught me that in letting go, I would bound up mountainsides. I would reach the top, where I would look for miles in all directions, spinning round with 360-degree views, soaring down from the top with freedom’s wings. In simply being me, I would laugh from deep within my soul, love whole-heartedly, and experience a life without boundary.
Nature promised that in rushing my healing, I would prevent any new forming skin. That in running up the mountain, I would entirely miss the view. That in looking ahead, I would never look around. That in planning the future, I would forever linger in the past. She promised that by hiking to the top, simply to see if the pasture was greener on the other side, I would lose the ability to understand ‘green’. I would over or under-water. I would forget to trust the rain. And if I always looked out at what was beyond, I would never see the green existing all around me, wherever I may be.
Nature promised me that in always speaking, I would lose my intuition, my tenderness, my empathy. She created space for me to experience silence, and in my reticence, in not talking; I spoke everything I needed to say. By experiencing silence of voice, she foreshadowed events long before they occurred. In her cautioning, she reminded me that the one who does not act, wins the imaginary game.
She held my pain while I writhed in the anguishing detox of letting it all go, and handed it back to me when I was ready to once again hold my pain, to face my wretchedness head-on. And by holding it with open palms, exactly as it was, by not placing judgment on how long it had stayed with me, or how many scars it had left, pain shed a tear for what we had shared, gathered his remnants, and soared into the ocean breeze. He left me lighter than when he had found me, for by experiencing pain so fully, I was intentionally cognizant that I was now all the more free.
Nature promised that with experience comes knowledge, and with knowing comes a great lack of it, and within that lack exists an accountability to trust. To allow it all to be, just what it is. Trust that due to the emptiness inside of me, I could be filled; filled with light and filled with peace. That in not attaching myself to the expectation of an outcome, the outcome would be just perfect for me. That in not defining perfectionism, all things would be inherently flawless, for their flaws created art and impeccable intrigue. All is “perfect within its sphere.”
Nature promised me that she would promise me nothing. She had nothing to swear to, because nothing truly exists. It is only our perception of it. She is ever changing, and in her change she is constant. She taught me that I own nothing. That nothing is. And in all of this non-being, everything exists. That there is only this:
This moment.
This precise moment, existing as a separate entity from this created concept of time. That existence, energy, and the present moment expand and roll far beyond the confines and limitations of description and understanding.
I am what I am.
It is what it is.
There is only this:
This moment.
And that, is why the wild wilderness will forever be what I call:
Home.
The lock of her door never takes the same key twice, her address changes each and every day. She runs and leaps, and in her infinite, exhausting movement, she is still. By not seeking her, I find her every day. It is simple: I look within. For what more of a home could I desire? Than that which inevitably exists beneath my beating chest.
I am one with nature. She is in me, and I in her. We are simply energy; an energetic consciousness basking ‘Neath the glory of the yellow morning Sun, experiencing love by the traces of the silver midnight moon. An experience. An awareness. A dream. A vibe.
X
Rachel