MIND MOVES:The extraordinary drama of this wilderness reawakens in me some spark of vitality, writes TONY BATES
AS I was walking barefoot towards the edge of the pond, a black snake, about four feet long, crossed my path inches from my toes. It made off through the long grass, moving with amazing speed and grace. Fascination overcame phobia and I followed it, armed only with a sense of wonder and hope.
I never saw it again. Not that day or for the past two weeks that I have lived beside this pond.
I am back in the wilderness, in a log cabin, nested in a 20,000-acre forest, high in the hills of western Kentucky. Days pass without sight or sound of other humans. There is no phone signal for 12 miles, the nearest internet access is a 50-mile round trip.
I came here for rest, ostensibly, but mostly to let my soul breathe again. Caught up in a world addicted to distraction, it’s easy to lose touch with the things that give your life meaning and vitality.
For a while you do okay, accelerating on adrenaline, coasting on caffeine, but sooner or later you crash and burn. One day you wake up with a hangover in the middle of a life that doesn’t make sense any more.
I needed some time away from people, from endless to-do lists, late nights and troubled sleep.
I came here like an asylum seeker in search of sanctuary. I came to be silent so that I might find something to do that was worth saying; I came to be alone so that I could rediscover how to be with people; I came not to forget my life but to rethink how I could live it more creatively and courageously.
I do very little in the course of a day here. I like to get up at 5am and sit out on the deck. I like the darkness and the silence at that special hour of the day. The frogs have given up their croaking, the cicadas have settled and a serene peace inhabits this place. In less than an hour, I know it will be broken by the ridiculous cacophony of birds and beasts as they accept the sun’s invitation to live a new day.
I spend my days reading, writing, cooking and cleaning, and walking for endless miles through these primordial forests. As darkness falls, I’m back at my deck, listening and watching, as the birdsong fades to black, the night shift reappears with their croaks and clicks, and the fireflies dazzle me with their light show.
Our ancestors saw nature as something sacred. Celtic monks made their whole lives a pilgrimage to places of beauty that were wild and untamed. They disowned human society in search of solitary places on remote islands off the western seaboard. They believed that in these “thin places” they could experience the natural harmony and unity of all living beings and draw vitality, their true identities, from a sacred presence that infused them.
The place I am in right now is surely a thin place. It is remote and untamed. The breeze blows through the trees of the forest; birds sing, argue, communicate and chase after each other; this place has a rhythm to it that is both predictable and totally unpredictable. One minute it looks serene, the next, something completely unexpected happens that takes my breath away.
I turned a corner the other day to see a bobcat standing in the centre of the road ahead of me. A groundhog poked his head out from under a rock as I walked by his domain. He turned his cute face in my direction and sniffed the air with an intense curiosity.
A fawn leapt out from the trees as I walked in the forest and cut across my path, followed by a coyote 10 yards behind her in hot pursuit.
The extraordinary drama of this wilderness reawakens in me some spark of vitality that I came here to recover. A spiritual vitality that comes from a grounded, appreciative and ethical relationship with living things.
Gardeners, hill-walkers, farmers and fishermen know what I’m talking about. Any contact with nature, be it through a hanging basket, vegetable garden or river walk, can be a portal through which you can access a dimension of life that is nothing less than sacred.
This opportunity was offered to me and I was open to it. That’s the key to it all, being open. It doesn’t matter how you get back your connection with nature, there are so many different ways. But you’ve got to recognise when your being has lost touch in some fundamental way with what makes you feel alive; if you get that and you’re open, you will find a way that works for you.
There is a growing recognition that we “should” change how we relate to the natural world, or else we risk destroying it. But we will not save what we do not love; and we will not truly love or save what we do not experience as sacred.
- Tony Bates is founding director of Headstrong – The National Centre for Youth Mental Health (www.headstrong.ie)