“In the point of rest at the center of our being, we encounter a world where all things are at rest…
then a tree becomes a mystery, a cloud a revelation.”
— Dag Hammarskjold
The next morning, the fisher dudes were packing to leave! I truly enjoyed their company – although they were about 40 years younger than I, they were quiet and respectful of the wilderness. I bummed a can of tuna off Quinn to make sure I had enough protein to build up for the homeward descent tomorrow, after enjoying one last day in paradise. They waved farewell, promising to check out my blog when they got back. Hopefully, the double-dads and their boisterous babes in the woods would leave, as well. Today was my day to take it slow and visit all the “greatest hits” that were easily accessible. First, I headed down to the Altar to perform an herbal ceremony in honor of the righteous fisher dudes. Soon after that, the double-dads troop headed down the trail – the boys chattering excitedly like blue jays – and I was alone again, naturally, in a vast landscape. I’d been keeping count, and saw a total of 39 people during this trip so far, but now it would be nice to go a whole day without seeing another human. I truly enjoyed getting to know people, and sharing the wonders of Little Bear Lake with them, but I valued my solo time most of all. I have always been shy and introverted, as if there was something I had to learn about myself before I could be comfortable with other people. In that regard, the lake was an advanced classroom of accelerated learning.
Thankfully, this day was the best weather so far. The sky stretched wide with promise, and the sun gently warmed both stones and bones alike. From my perch atop the highly improbable and curiously flat boulder that forms the Altar, I spied a single, animated little cloud hanging in the sky to the north: the direction from which weather changes were possible. At first it resembled a massive white hot air balloon, suspended high over the dark purple ridges. It seemed to be painted on the sky, and fixed in one place. Then it performed a slow-motion, shape-shifting dance just for me, taking on the forms of several Bear Lake Basin residents, including crawling insects, flying birds, and swimming fish. I even witnessed the Great White Chipmunk, but that could have been a hallucinogenic side effect of the previously mentioned ceremony. It remained the only cloud in the sky, until a few smaller puffballs appeared fifty miles to the east behind Queen Shasta; cuddling her pinnacle like privileged puppies. I resumed my visual meditation with the landscape. At least half an hour later, that singular cloud was still performing its amusing animal impersonations, and I realized it hadn’t yet morphed into the region’s namesake. But one huge bluff on Sawtooth’s ridge had strangely taken the shape of a bear wearing a face mask! It seems the farewell ceremony for the fisher dudes had had a stronger effect than I first thought!
I turned my attention back to the little cloud, which must have been less than 20 miles away, and proved once again to myself that I can dance with clouds when I am alone. I directed my will at the thing as a beam of affection from my heart, and asked it to assume the shape of Smokey the Bear. But there are limits to my influence. I created the hat, but not the bear underneath, and the little cloud just laughed at me. I responded by focusing my spirit into a laser of acute fondness – the better to dissipate the little cotton ball entirely – and that object, which had been in the same place in the sky for the better part of an hour, simply broke apart and dissolved into mist. I stopped transmitting my love rays, and the cloud reassembled in the same spot, and soon formed the shape of a walking grizzly bear, just like the one in the California flag! I sensed that my power was heightened (no pun intended) because I was atop the Altar. I could have taken dozens of photos of that cloud, but those would only have identified me as a stoner (which I most certainly was that day). All the same, being alone in such surroundings lent itself to profound enhancement of thought… even without herbal aids of any kind! I had to admit, the night before I had the usual thoughts of leaving earlier than planned, and gaining an extra day at home to prepare for my return to work. Fortunately, I realized I could prepare much more effectively up here in paradise than back home in the suburbs. Also, I would have missed this stupendous morning, perched on top of the Altar in my stare-chair, dancing with a cloud and absorbing the vibrant spectacle; embraced by the astonishing fullness of the warm, soothing atmosphere.
Today I planned to follow Mama Bear Springs up to its source, and weave my way reverently through Lothlórien. I always enjoyed searching among the rocks and trees for naturally unusual formations I hadn’t seen before. On the way, I’d stop and make sure the dads taught their boys how to put out a campfire thoroughly. Those kids sure had a great time! They were always on the move – fishing or exploring. One exuberant dad took them all around the rim of the lake, and I couldn’t help comparing that with the indifference of my own father, some 47 years before. I wish he’d been the sort of man who wanted to create a memorable experience for his children, but he simply wasn’t interested in any perspective but his own. I should have seen those boys going down the mountain by then, in the places where I could glimpse the trail between the forest glades. Perhaps they were having lunch at Big Bear Lake, and tormenting the trout one last time before returning to their video games. Old Sol was now high in the sky, and it was getting much warmer on the temple bluff. My hands were roasting in the light – even with gloves on. Time to head for the trees. I checked my little cloud companion one last time, and astonishingly, it was in exactly the same position in the sky; mocking my inadequacy. As I packed up my modest gear and withdrew my attention, it disappeared before my eyes!
Back at Little Bear Lake, the chipmunks were busy scavenging the recently vacated campsites. To them, it appeared as though all the humans had suddenly vanished, and left behind a whole bunch of goodies… but wait, that’s my stuff! Fortunately, I had all my food stored in hard plastic containers, which would take many hours to breach without power tools. I could imagine them trying to rig a cutting torch from my camp stove, and stashed the cartoon image in my mental gag file. They were obviously disappointed when I returned, and scolded me defiantly from the branches. I jeered back at them, grabbed a few things, and returned to the little fen next to Wee Bear. From there, a picturesque scramble above the springs led to a predictably inspiring afternoon. Entering the holy forest of the elves above the lake, as in a walking meditation, I reverently absorbed the wild, pure energy of the Great Beings who dwelt in that forest glade year round, helping one another through the winter. The trees were mostly Mountain Hemlock, with perhaps 20% or less Ponderosa mixed in with a few Noble Fir. Those living sages shimmered with radiance during the long summer days, as they stored up energy to fuel their sheer willpower and determination to survive. If our planet were any hotter or colder, life simply couldn’t survive on it. The fact that living beings do exist on this planet, with such astonishing variety and tenacity, is testament to the fact that while life is endemic to the universe, when it finds the extremely rare conditions it needs to thrive, it explodes in an exuberance of myriad physical expression. What incomprehensible forms of life have evolved on other worlds, outside of human awareness? Here and there stood long-dead skeletons of the trees’ great ancestors, and I touched them in respectful communion. The tensile strength and density of their wood could allow them to stand – outwardly lifeless – above the ground for decades. During that time, their roots still participated in the forest network, exchanging resources and assisting younger siblings, until their life force finally vacated the matrix, returning their elements to the soil.
As I sat on a decomposing nurse log, gazing at those spectacular beings, I got the distinct sense we were communicating. Trees silently share information both above and below ground, while humans need to use an artificial medium, such as language, to communicate. Forest bathing, or shirin-roku, provides physical benefits for both trees and humans, by exchanging molecules such as pheromones. I breathed out carbon dioxide, which they absorbed through their leaves; in turn releasing freshly minted oxygen molecules that found their way into my lungs. The sublime subatomic particles were not only responding to my role as an observer, they were physically altered by my consciousness. Trees communicate with each other via airborne chemical signals, so why shouldn’t these messages also find their way into my bloodstream? After all, trees and humans share a common ancestry in the first germinal cells of life on earth from billions of years ago. Although the evolutionary paths of plants and mammals diverged countless eons in the past, our DNA still shares many of the same basic structures.
Every living thing on this planet is part of an unbroken chain of life that began approximately 3.7 billion years ago as single-cell bacteria. All living things can trace their ancestry back through the mists of time, from offspring to mother, in a continuous cycle of rebirth. Anything that is alive today was also, in a very real sense, alive at the dawn of creation. Trees and people alike carry the vestigial atomic structure of incredibly ancient bacteria. In a very real way, we are the pinnacle of achievement for those primal bacteria. Plants, animals, and microscopic organisms share a common origin from the first organic components that organized into the first living cell – either by endowment, or by figuring it out for themselves. Every spark carries forward the torch of life that was lit by the original flame. This realization is a paramount responsibility for conscious life.
For both the trees and me, our life energy traces metaphorically from the ends of our leaves into thin twigs, passing through thickening branches to a single trunk. From there, it follows the narrowing root structures ever downward until it reaches the absolute tips of the rootlets that exchange molecules with the earth itself. Then it rises as a symphony, where each individual vibration contributes to a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. That afternoon, I was in harmony with the forest; ecstatic in a profound vibrational affinity that seemed to recognize me as part of the “wood wide web” that shares information deep within the earth. The honey-glazed light that was softly absorbed in their needles had traveled millions of miles to get here, and I was part of its reception. I wished I could remain like that for hundreds of years with my new friends, but it was time to move on. There was so much glory to witness while the gentle light caressed my eyes; that I nearly fell off my log.
“Once in his life a man ought to concentrate his mind upon the remembered earth, I believe.
He ought to give himself up to a particular landscape in his experience, to look at it from
as many angles as he can, to wonder about it, to dwell upon it. He ought to imagine
that he touches it with his hands at every season and listens to the sounds that are made upon it.
He ought to imagine the creatures that are there and all the faintest motions in the wind.
He ought to recollect the glare of noon and all the colors of the dawn and dark.”
— N. Scott Momaday