The lesson...

The whole world is, to me, very much "alive" - all the little growing things, even the rocks. I can't look at a swell bit of grass and earth, for instance, without feeling the essential life - the things going on - within them. The same goes for a mountain, or a bit of the ocean, or a magnificent piece of old wood.

~ Ansel Adams

Life. We often think of it in terms of our own hapless egos, seeing it stretch 80 to 100 years before dimming into some essential darkness. We diminish it by relating it to ourselves instead of ourselves to it. We can’t help it. We’re hardwired to think this way lest we cower in fear at the vastness that really surrounds us and the loneliness that should imbed itself in our collective hearts.

Life. That magical process of birth and decay that makes our little sphere so precious. We take it for granted. We cannot conceive of anything else.

Sometimes I need reminding of life in its broadest sense. I need to feel like I am a small part in a much larger wheel. I need to escape from my head and exist in my skin, nearer to the earth. Sometimes I need reminding of the process and what it looks like without the blinkers of a poetically prone heart. It’s important to learn how to look at both birth and decay. It makes you stronger, connects you to what is real.

I spent this weekend just past in the forests of Goomburra at Main Range National Park - a pristine environment that makes up a part of the Gondwana Rainforests of Australia World Heritage Area. It is a special place, home to amazing landscapes, picturesque streams, cascades and waterfalls and some stunning views of the surrounding countryside. I had never been there, most often retreating to closer hinterlands for our weekend sojourns. But having spent this time there I’ve no doubt I will visit again and again and again.

My camera came with me on this trip and I carried it with me on all our walks, sometimes begrudging its weight, but mostly grateful that I had it. The camera helps me to see, to really look beyond the big picture and focus on the smaller elements. There was so much of interest on these walks. Lichens, fungus, unfurling bracken fronds, skeletal leaf remnants, twisted and knotted strangler vines, the texture of the bark on the hoop pines, the gnarled mountains of fig roots rising out of the damp forest floor. Life was everywhere, happening all at once around me in every stage of its process.

All I had to do was breathe. Put one foot in front of the other. Move through the life. Move through it. Observe.

Breathe. Walk. Observe.

This was the lesson that I came to the forest to relearn. It was that simple. Just breathe, walk and observe. The rest is all by the wayside. Important no doubt, but not essential, and of no greater consequence than the absolute basics.

Some spend countless hours seeking a teacher for this knowing, spend dollars, pray at altars, sit in silent hours of contemplation. But this knowing is free and arrives without effort. Just walk in the forest. It’s not always comfortable, not always pretty, but it’s a fantastic teacher. The best. And you’ll come out the other side richer for it. I always do.