Sit-spotters, friends, last night I found a second pile of fur near my sit-spot; I asked myself why I hadn’t seen it before. This pile looks more recent than the first I found, appears to have been decaying for some time in the dampness of the understory. The fur measures more than an inch in length, is white in color and is the amount of two pillows. I see no bones.
I contemplated whether it is still wise to sleep here. Laura G says she once found a deer kill at her sit-spot, and then got a different sit-spot. When I laid down I still felt spooked and tried to breathe my way back to the Quiet Mind, but I got more spooked trying to be calm really intentionally. I got my sleeping bag and went to sit by the open night sky of the pond, clouds covering the almost-full moon. These woodlands are haunted by night, thick-black-tangled with the watery spell of the underworld. The forest has eyes, I can feel them on me, but I am drawn into it deeper, and the further I go, the less I fear. Then the darkness comforts me, as an animal is comforted, knowing they belong where they are.
Well, I wasn’t about to let no pile o’ fur scare me from my sit-spot, so I romped back into my bed zone, snuggled into my sleeping bag and pulled my cloak over my head, for reassurance. That’ll keep ’em out. I thought about what Marcus said, that Cougar wasn’t likely come get me if I’m lying still and smell like a human, but a bear might come check me out, give me a shy sniff and a nuzzle, but would turn tail the moment I moved like a human.
When I awoke, the romping golden sun came streaming into my crusty eyes through the blazing electric yellow-green fern canopy, huge and paleozoic above me. Lady-bird Swainson’s Thrush came to visit me, hopped on the overhanging branch where offerings of bells and incense mark my sanctuary. A Douglas Squirrel pew-pwe’d at me.
Forest! It can never be boring to live while we lay down and wake under you! How beautiful to be alive!