Still, Deep in the Forest

From the Silent Spring

Much of me is still deep in the forest.  A week ago (to the minute, as it happens) I woke to the sunlight filtering in through the window in a tiny cabin with very little inside other than two very comfortable (thank you, thank you, thank you) beds.

I slipped on my sandals and pulled a hoodie over my sleep gear; Jenn still slumbered on but I had to pee- across the gravel path and two huts down I went, to the facilities.

It was raining.  I could tell because there was moisture on the brightly lit air and from the delicate percussive sounds coming from the trees that surrounded and hovered over me.  But not a drop came down on my head; the forest has long been in the habit of using this abundant moisture for its own ends, and no drop need be wasted on the humans here, who will just go get in the hot springs when they want to get wet.

Ahhh, Breitenbush.  The whole time I was a massage therapist in Seattle I would hear others extoll the virtues of Breitenbush hot springs as a vacation and/or retreat spot.  I longed for the days when I might be among the ranks of those who vacationed and/or retreated, and I must have unknowingly vowed that one day I, too, would soak this body in those steamy waters.

When we were originally planning the Oregon branch of our left-coast “whirlwind” tour, we fully expected to spend some time on the coast in between the ecovillages and communities we were going to explore.  But when Jenn said she’d found some hot springs deep in the woods I was intrigued.  When I realized she’d discovered Breitenbush all on her own, a number of things snapped into place inside me.  I can’t really put a finger on it, but I think I began a somewhat automated process of realigning with the Northwest.

There were many unexpected events in the earlier parts of our excursion, one of which resulted in us canceling all of our meticulously planned reservations and flying more or less by the seat of our pants- so it wasn’t until the day before we went that we knew for sure we could get there and that there would be a place for us.  So we did, and there was.

We spent the evening exploring the grounds and choosing which of the springs we’d soak in after dinner.  The height of the trees, the warmth of the sun, the sweetness of the breeze... the roaring of the river, the song of the birds, the absolute absence of any automated sounds WHATSOEVER...  the springy “give” of the forest floor, the huddled majesty of the pines and oaks soaring overhead, the unheard sound of the forest that reverberates just behind the breastbone in a deep baritone “whoosh”... conspired to take me several levels deeper into myself than I’ve been in years, outside of intentional meditation.

We spent time on the bridge overlooking the river and the modest geo-thermal plant that was built by the community and which supplies all of its electricity.  We watched tiny birds dart for bugs and “ominous birds” soar over the tree tops until the sun got to a certain angle, then we found the labyrinth, which I walked as the sun went down.
We soaked in the sacred tubs- three of them get progressively hotter and the third is to be enjoyed in silence.  The dark enveloped us a bit more with each experience; we were in the silent springs when the last light left the sky and we all became dripping silhouettes as we groped our way over the slippery stones toward the path.  We had to use our rented flashlight to find our way back.

The morning that I speak of now dawned raining and misty- stirring the soul in the way that only Northwest mist can do- and it was everything in our power not to miss our flight so we’d have to stay another day.  Next time, three days at least!

We said our reluctant farewells to this new favorite place and headed for the highway.  Fortunately the gatekeeper advised us that the more scenic North Cascades highway would get us there just as quickly as the major thoroughfares, so I had the distinct pleasure of introducing Jenn to this part of the country that I’ve loved for 30 years.  My dad and stepmom and I had driven the Washington portion of this road when I was in my wee-teens, and it was during that time that the Northwest began to seep into my bones.  I fancied I’d be a botanist or a forest ranger, that these magnificent pillars of needle and cone would be the home and cathedral for my expanding soul.

Of course those plans were waylaid, as public school and rebellion and the mis-spending of my youth took precedence over those beautifully innocent aspirations. 
And yet... and now... and how... can it be I’ve come full circle?