Even when cloaked in the leaves of a forest, a wanderer is never unseen. No matter how deep the path into the woods leads, there are eyes that never blink here, ears that never register silence, a consciousness that never sleeps.
At the bottom of the sloping path, sunlight still reaches down, all the way to the bottom of a stream. It is a quiet place, even with the running water, and the slightest rustle would betray the stealthiest intruder. Mostly they are the sounds of scattering chipmunks and retreating squirrels. The cry of a bird will occasionally pierce the dull murmur of the stream, but the main thing you hear is your own breathing.
If there is one thing of which you become startlingly aware in the woods, it is your breath. As such, it is life. You hear the steady push and pull of air as it enters and exits your body. You feel the pulse of such intake, and in the midst of nature you feel the pulse of the universe. It is all here.
It is a moment of grounding. Whenever you feel yourself lost, or your thoughts and focus scattered like those startled chipmunks, find a body of water and stand in the lapping edge of it. An ocean works best, but in a pinch a lake or streambed will do.
Let the water work its healing magic, as your legs, like anchors, remind you of your footing in this world.Back to Blog