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?

A Yurt, A Yak, and You...

I saw a friend recently whom I hadn’t seen in some time.  In the process of catching up, I told her of our mission to visit ecovillages around the globe, to research them and interview their residents and to sort of “try on” life in intentional communities such as these. 

This was probably the first time she heard me talking about such things, especially in terms of a new life mission.  I mean, we’d talked about gardening before but here I was rambling on about permaculture (starting at the beginning and going all the way to Findhorn) and how I want to blog about the “inner journey” involved in living authentically in intentional community. 

I said that we are looking for a way to create a life in which we have a minimal “footprint” in terms of impact on the earth, and cooperate with others as well as the land for our sustenance so that when we are living in post-oil society, we will be equipped to produce food and other resources.  She listened thoughtfully, as is her way, and then declared the notion a noble one, adding, “Somebody’s got to do it”.

When I laughed at this, she looked up and said, “No, I’m serious.”

This friend is a doctor, the kind of doctor you feel really lucky to find.  She’s up on all the current research and is also well versed in the offerings of natural remedies.  She often helps people navigate the otherwise murky waters of health choices.  I’m lucky enough to work with some of her patients and know that their experience of her is the same as mine- that she listens with such genuine concern and interest that you literally feel compassion coming from her.  She grasps the big picture of a situation and can help break it down so you need not be overwhelmed.  She has a gentleness that you can wrap around you, and still carries the authority of a wise woman who knows the worth of her words.  So when she declared our mission a noble and necessary one, I felt a deep sense of affirmation of the worth of our venture.  And when she came up with the title for this blog and challenged me to post it, I said, “Done!”

It happened like this:  we were talking about the notion of living off the land and also growing older (I’ll admit it - part of the allure of living in community is that at my age, by the time I learn to do everything I need to do to be self-sufficient, I may not be able to do it on my own anymore!).  How the dream of retiring someday to the old family homestead becomes harder to realize in today’s economy; that people are working harder and for more years to provide for a “comfortable” retirement, and how tempting it is to settle for uncomfortable retirement just to get a break from the exhaustion of working nonstop.

I mentioned that, earlier this summer, we’d almost bought a used yurt for eight thousand dollars.  At the time we’d just given up on the notion of home ownership, at least in our current town, in deference to our real dream to homestead or join an existing community.  I said the thought was that whatever happens and wherever we are, we’d have a place to live, comfortably or otherwise.  “You’d need a yak too,” my erstwhile friend pointed out.  We locked eyes and chuckled together.  “It sounds like a Valentine. ‘All I need is a yurt, a yak, and you’...”.

Of course every day since this conversation I’ve struggled with the fact that this isolationist picture really appeals to me in some sense, kind of blowing the community aspect of my proclaimed wishes right off the map.  After a long sleepless night under our noisy night-owl neighbors, with whom every effort at problem-solving and productive confrontation has failed so bitterly that it’s prompted another post titled, “When the Highroad Bites”,  it is so easy to picture myself cuddled up with my loved one, sipping yak milk in front of the woodstove in the middle of our yurt, in the middle of our garden in the middle of a field in the middle of some land far, far away...

But of course that’s another story.

Tweet

Daring and Delicious Life Changes!

Change is in the air, along with that subtle shift in the angle of light in late afternoon.  There’s ripening going on everywhere, out in the field and here in the life-path-assessment region of my mind.

In the last installation I mentioned that we had just essentially scrapped plans to do the “logical” thing - buy a house where we are because the market is good and there’s a window for funding that closes in three months.  We scrapped it because, at 42 and 47 we aren’t ready to close the door on adventure and a life full of meaning.  The old notion that home ownership is the primary element in establishing security is quickly fading in light of the fact that all of the things previous generations relied on for security are failing fast.  Traditional forms of investment, climate stability, and fossil fuel are no longer the reassuring assets they were to our forebears. 

It is perfectly reasonable to assume that all of these things will change dramatically in my lifetime (and most certainly that of the generation that follows); and while a great being once said, “Ahhh, What would we do without the last minute?”... I’m starting to think, why not learn to be adaptable before the last minute?

This brings us to my latest plan to visit a number of ecovillages over the course of the coming year.  We’ll be exploring what it is about this intentionally designed way of life that is so compelling to us, what it offers to our imaginations, and what talents/skills/assets/resources we can offer to such an enterprise if we should choose to pursue it.

Jenn has great talents for design and putting things together, the how to do things part of the equation.  While this part interests and fascinates me, and I really really enjoy it, my real skill is more about exploring the why of it all- the philosophical underpinnings of the movement away from the extractive economy and toward real community and self-reliance.  Of great interest to me, is the inner work required to make this shift authentically and with integrity.  After all, if it should ever come to pass that we have to live together without oil, “convenience” foods, entertainment gadgets and the like, we are going to have to have some skills that have long gone dormant in most of society.  There are lots of people who will teach you how to tend a composting toilet or build water catchment, and I am So Grateful for them!  While they get that part of the equation rolling,  I’d like to help folks with the inner transition.

This very morning I’m awaiting word on my application to spend time at a globally recognized ecovillage in Scotland.  There’s nothing in the inbox yet, so it’s just going to be another delicious day of waiting.

Tweet