Tuesday, July 23, 2013
I slept outside at my sitspot last night. Woke up to bird song around me and rays of sunlight through leafy green trees and ferns. And it feels wonderful.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Third night of sleeping outside at The Mosswood Secret Spot. The way the sun pours into the morning to fill up the green woods, rays through the branches above when I first open my eyes is incomparable. We have become accustomed to saying, when we touch magic, “It is like another world” but I know now that this world, host of our lives, is at the foundation of all magic and every great story. If there is a heaven, it must be linked into here, unique but not separate, close by this world and interconnected, present among us.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Last night I watched the beautiful little bats fly over me at the pond near my sitspot. They got so close I could hear their delicate wingbeats flap a yard over my head, as I lay there watching the dusk draw over the land. (Now there is a flock of sparrows all around me as I write this!) I thanked the bats for eating the mosquitoes and thanked the mosquitoes for reminding me of geologic time and human frailty. Then I went to sleep delighting in the softness of the Western Hemlock tree duff, the warm-cool of the starry summer evening, my wool cloak. I lay under the Sword Ferns that drooped above me like prehistoric giants.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
The forest was pullin’ a fast one on me last night. So I go out there, get all cozy with my blankey and pillow and I shove a fern out of the way just as I’m laying down all snuggly, when I hear a THUD THUMP a stone’s throw from my head. My heart stops. My overactive imagination takes over. A jumping bug hops on my face like a frog and hops off, clicking it’s wings. A mouse becomes a dinosaur in the night. Ha ha ha. I shine my flashlight and act brave, but the tangled shadows of the moonless night only feed the growing list of possibilities as to what creature it could be. Probably just a couple o’ racoons, I tell myself, or a deer -THUMP-DA-DUMMP- Or an escaped peacock. I gulp. I begin waving my flashlight around and singing one of our favorite WAS songs like an idiot, “How sweet the sound was in the niiiight, the melodies floowed like wateeerrrrrr, the women sang the mon’s delight and the men all sang of honeeyyyy!” You know, just to inform whatever it is that I am an obnoxious flashlight-wielding human, thank you very much, and I am not on the menu. I dive back into my blanket, thinking I won… THUMP. O God, maybe it’s Stickbreaker aka Bigfoot. I get up huffing indignantly, grab my stuff, and march out back onto the gravel road. Sit and watch the stars in the open clearing a minute. I ain’t gunna let this thing win, I tell meself. I drop my blanket and pillow and forge back int there. “Hello?” THUMP THUMP THUMP. I turn tail and beat it. I learned nothin’ at WAS if not the saving mixture of comedy and humility. Trodding back to my yurt feeling partly spooked, partly humored, partly defeated but full of a wonder, I park my bed under the Hemlock grove next to my yurt, and briefly battle an Oregon Grape root for dominance. Tomorrow, I think to myself, I’ll try again. Sometimes the forest just wants to be without humans, ya know? That is a part of honoring the untamed wildness of a sitspot. We are only visitors there. And I ain’t no ‘fraidy cat… er… ‘cept when I am, but I know how to cry uncle with dignity. I count myself honored that the collective spirits of the forest thought me hearty enough to employ their spooky mischief my way and have a little fun with me.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Sitspotters, friends, what do you think? Last night I found a second pile of fur near my sitspot; I asked myself why I hadn’t seen it before. This pile looks more recent than the first I found, though it appears to have been decaying for some time as the dampness of this forest speeds it up, I know. The fur measures a couple inches in length, is white in color and is the amount of two pillows! I found no bones whatsoever. What is this?
I contemplated whether it is still wise to sleep there. I recall Laura G saying she once found a deer kill at her spot and therefore got a different sitspot. When I laid down I still felt spooked and tried to intentionally breathe my way back into the Quiet Mind, but I got flooded with primal fear and adrenaline! Which was kind of cool to feel that. I got my sleeping bag and went to sit by the open night sky of the pond, though the clouds were covering the almost-full moon, and I thought about how excellently spooky these Cascadian woods are at night, how thick and black and tangled with the watery, dark enchantment of the Underworld, or The Other Side of the Veil. This forest has eyes, and I can always feel them on me. And yet, as much as it spooks me, this darkness comforts me.
Well, I wasn’t about to let no pile o’ fur scare me from MY sitspot, so I romped back into my bed zone, snuggled into my sleeping bag and pulled my cloak over my head, for reassurance. I thought about what Marcus said, that a Cougar wun’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. ‘Sides, Black Bears jus’ don’t hunt people much -human people, I mean.
When I awoke, the sweet and loving golden sun came streaming into my crusty eyes through the blazing yellow-green fern canopy, huge and Paleozoic above me. How much more did I appreciate it, every time I’m out there and I let go into the dark, and I wake up again (accountably) unscathed. A female Swainson’s Thrush came to visit me, hopped on the overhanging branch on which I left offerings of bells and incense holders to thank and bless my sitspot while I am far away. A Douglas Squirrel pew’d at me. And I thought to myself, I love you, Forest. How beautiful to be alive!