Out of the Wild... — The Contemplative Space

I literally walked out of the woods last Friday after eight days of backpacking along the Washington Pacific Crest Trail. Two of my daughters, a spiritual formation friend and her daughter were part of the group. It was stunning, epic, challenging, tearful, joyful, and well worth the 65 miles we traversed together.

We traveled through forests, skirting around the western side of Mount Adams, beside meadows bursting with wildflowers, up through Cispus Pass in the Goat Rocks Wilderness area, upward and even higher until we carefully maneuvered along Knife’s Edge and back down finally ending at White Pass.

“One step at a time” was my friend’s mantra on those long 11 and 13 mile days. Heavy packs weighing us down, I channeled my inner mountain goat, sometimes feeling like a pack animal.

Jumping naked into icy lakes, soaking our tired feet in glacier streams, cooking small meals and eating protein bars, trying to sleep on pads on the hard ground inside confining mummy bags. enduring vicious mosquitoes and views and vistas that took our breath away rounded out each day.

We entered into this journey with intent. Most mornings were slow with sleep, prayer, yoga and coffee. Our evenings were spent watching sunsets, sharing poems, songs, thoughts and intentions for the journey, more yoga and some journaling.

One evening, at Snow Grass Valley, a storm rolled in bringing fog, mist and thick clouds which settled heavy upon us. This was the evening I lie in my solo tent, emotions rolling over me from deep childhood wounds. Something had been said. The wound was open again. Another layer exposed. A raw place ripe for healing. I did not resist the feelings. I allowed them. I saw them. I welcomed them.

“Oh, there you are old friend. It will be ok. You are Beloved. You are Sacred. You are moving towards wholeness.”

I cannot put into words what exactly transpired in my solo tent that evening. I only know I was held and loved in that moment of Presence. This is Mystery. This is the mystical way. This is what it means to be alive, awake, to be human.

In that same place, one of my daughters needed time alone as well. Just before she entered her tent, she told me how overwhelmed she was by all of it. The vastness, the beauty, the sky, the views, the wildflowers and mossy streams: all of it. She could not begin to take it in.

The other daughter spent time alone on the trail ahead of us with her fast hiking pace as she was overtaken by the huge life transition that lies ahead of her. There’s something about being in the wild without social media, and daily distractions that allow us to process, assess and contemplate. Walking in peace and love. Walking in meditation.

Just after our steep descent down Knife’s Edge, we camped on the precipice of a cliff, a nearby glacial stream with a magnificent view of Mount Rainier. That was the roughest night I spent on the trip. I could not fall asleep. I tossed and turned in my confined, hard bed. My air mattress went flat and I felt as if I was battling some unknown entity. Finally, I got up and out of my tent to go to the bathroom.

The world that greeted me was so overwhelming, I could barely breathe. The sky was pressing down upon me, thick with masses of stars and planets. Mount Rainier and the nearby hills and trees were silhouetted black against the star studded sky. The nearby snow field glowed. I was inside of Magic. I was part of it. One with the Cosmos, I began to turn around and around, head tilted back, to try and take it all in. The air was warm against my skin. I was terrified and filled with wonder all at once. It was otherworldly.

I do not know the meaning of that moment, yet. Perhaps there is no meaning. Perhaps it just is what it is: a slice of time with beauty so expansive and loving, so incomprehensible that only our Souls can take it in, but our conscious selves cannot.

The day we walked out of the woods, we were startled by “civilization” and felt assaulted by pavement, cars, and people. I do not know how one can re-enter without this feeling of loss and shock. Knowing we were headed back to our “real lives” again felt wrong and yet also right.

On Sunday, after arriving home, I came down with terrible vertigo and have been confined to my bed until today (Wednesday). Maybe, I pushed myself too hard.

Or maybe, I am invited to rest and integrate all that transpired in the undercurrents of my Soul during those eight days of living in the wild.

Welcome home.