12/10/24 12:00: The Unraveling of a Leaf.

I had just finished doing some work clearing brush from an embankment on some very wild and rustic mountain property and paused for a few moments to bathe in the surrounding silence. While working I had noticed that I could hear traffic noises from I-26 (very deep and low truck sounds), which was a little surprising because I was quite a few miles from the highway. (Sound travels and bounces around in odd ways in the mountains.) But from this...I began to isolate each sound I heard...an airplane overhead, the distant silence among the trees,  the trickling sounds from the creek below, down to the point that I heard a single leaf rustle across the bank in front of me. From this...I decided to intently listen and bask in these quiet stirrings. (Mostly because you never know what you might hear whispered on the wind...an adventure in and of itself.)

I leaned up again a very large rock that was on the bank overlooking a lovely rippling creek and was suddenly captivated by this tiny leaf skeleton laying there right in front of me. I immediately wondered just how long this leaf had been laying there in order to turn into this shell of itself? I didn’t dare touch it because I instinctively knew it would disintegrate right before my eyes.

The intricacies and delicateness of each and every vein, now fully visible and in great detail was breathtaking! Now paired down to the very bones of the leaf. How long did this unraveling take?
Time didn’t seem to matter here. The details were what mattered.

There was a familiarity to me with this intricate and yet very complex pairing down from what used to be this leaf...to what this leaf was now. Bare bones.

It is very clear to me that many of us are smack in the middle of a “pairing down” phase in our lives. The sorting and clearing and de-cluttering, some things even have been ripped out from under us seemingly without our having any real choice in the matter. To sit within the feeling of what we used to feel like...to how it feels now...so very different...yet also from deep within it all...there is a “freeing” feeling. Maybe some of the heaviness is gone...maybe things feel a bit lighter.
With the things we are able to sort through...each and every decision is based upon…“Do I really need this anymore? Does it hold the same purpose it once did?”

From within what I’m describing here...you might be able to tell (much like the leaf) that sometimes we find ourselves stuck on a rock with no choice but to change into the next version of ourselves. Like a leveling up.

Remember those old video games where you moved from left to right as you progressed through the game? Each level has a progression of difficulty and challenge that came with it. And if you died...you had to start over, back at the very beginning of that level again. And always...ALWAYS near the end of each level was a very difficult challenge. And when you finally beat that level there was a brief moment of victory before you started the next level. But...because you learned and grew and expanded your ability to navigate the challenges in that level...the start of the next level was a smidge easier only because you’d made it through that last big intense challenge at the end of the last one.

Human crisis and challenge is where we learn the most about humaning. When the stress levels are high...when we are exhausted...when we falter at the face of another decision to be made...but as always...the intensity passes...we get through it...and then comes the sorting after. The flicking off of details that are no longer necessary for us to continue to carry on our journey.

We’re left with the bare bones. And there’s beauty there. So much beauty.

Photo Credit: me in the wild mountain rustic air standing next to a rock by the creek

 

 

12/05/24 1000: Silence.

 

A strange phenomenon emerged from my spending hours each day this past Summer, guiding whitewater kayaking trips down the Upper Green River nestled in the wild and rugged Green River Gorge. And it lingers still.

I call it silence...the silence found within Nature. But I suppose this word isn’t really the essence of it. Stillness, comes a little closer to describe. And then as I’ve talked about this to others what also comes to mind is the lack of sound pollution...as in human-made sound.  Such as cars or trucks passing, people talking, thuds or bumps or booms, airplanes flying over head...you get the idea.

I used to explain this to guests on the van ride down to the Upper Green River put-in. I’d say to them, “You’re about to experience a phenomenon in the wild where you’ll hear nature’s silence. And you’ll know exactly when this occurs because you’ll hear a strange sound ahead of us when we reach a certain point on the river. A thump, thump thump.  This is when you’ll know you’ve just experienced Nature’s silence, because it will be broken by a human-made noise.”

This noise was created by the sound of semi-trucks and automobiles crossing the Peter Guice Memorial Bridge (connecting both sides of I-26 over the Green River Gorge) which we paddled directly under. The silence to noise ratio was unmistakable here in this very spot.

After just a few weeks of being immersed daily in natural surroundings where non-human sound exists, loud noises became increasingly aggravating to me. I began to drive in silence...no music or radio. Loud mufflered pick-up trucks that passed where I was became like fingernails on a chalk board. Any loud sounds were disturbing.

I’m reminded of similar phenomenon that played out with Appalachian Trail through hikers. Where re-adjusting back into civil life was incredibly complicated and difficult. After having spent months in the wilderness walking amongst the stillness...imagine how unsettling just the sound of downtown city traffic would be, let alone a train engine horn, or a blaring radio.

The beauty of this...well, turns out it’s become just another thing I’m sorting out. What sounds do I now willfully expose myself too? I find that I turn off sound more than I turn it on and when I listen to music, instrumental music like Native American Flute is mostly what’s on my playlist.

There’s a kind of listening ability that’s unlocked from within this knowing of silence. (Which being immersed in Nature’s silence clearly unlocked for me). And I recognize the slightest interruptions within the continuity of combined sounds and silence like never before.

Being bombarded with sound also means being bombarded by vibration...because all sound carries with it a vibration.  Is it any wonder that when you experience next to zero cluttered and disorderly vibrational sounds and when you do experience it again that it’s revolting?

Yet again...Nature teaches me some of the most fantastical things. She is a living, breathing, loving, classroom...radiating with wonder!

Photo Credit: pixabay (dot) com