Refuge in Nature

Your place of refuge may be different than mine, but it’s necessary to go there when something has twisted your life into knots. It could be grief, loss of a job, a health diagnosis, a relationship coming apart, or a crisis of faith.

Wherever you go for renewal, to feel comforted, accepted, and inspired, it’s likely to be a place or an activity that brought you pleasure before trauma struck. Now it becomes therapeutic.

For one person it may be carpentry or gardening, for another it may be working with horses. Maybe it’s going to the movies, the ocean, or the golf course. Whatever it is, this is where you can step back, focus on something else for a time, while at the same time, work your way through the problem in the back alleys of your mind.

When some thought or feeling shows up out of the blue, pause and listen for where it is leading.

My path was in Yosemite, and the following are notes from one of my trips. I hope you find parallels with your own journey.

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Hiking any long trail in the mountains is rugged and demands more endurance than I think I have, but I want the challenge to see if I measure up. I need to be worn out by physical activity because I’ve been sitting at home for too long with grief, and nature comforts me.

This morning a Jeffrey pine stands in front of me. I rub my hand over the bark, feel its roughness, and lean close to see how it smells. I can never remember if it’s the Jeffrey or the Ponderosa that smells like vanilla. Ah, it’s the Jeffrey.

I listen to the Merced River flowing nearby, dip my hand into the cold of its snowmelt water, and feel the power of its surge. I wander into the meadow, sit on the ground, and look closely at its plants, at the hairy-stalked milkweed, the long stemmed grasses, and the glorious purple lupine.

My intention last night was to hike into the mountains today. But what do I feel like doing this morning? Do I really want to tackle a demanding hike, or would I rather sit by the river and read, or maybe saunter aimlessly?

I will try not to think of grief, or use the hours to organize my future. I will focus on nature and exist in this moment as fully as I can and see what happens.

No one here knows who I am or what I’m struggling with, and I can tell them or not. I’m untethered from my past, and free to express whatever thoughts and feelings I have this morning. In the next hour I may uncover deeper feelings and contradict myself. So be it. I will be enigmatic. I will find people I like, and we will share food and drink, and exchange stories that make us laugh and give us courage.

I will listen to nature, to the breezes humming through the branches of the Sugar pines, the opinionated chatter of blue jays, the haunting caws of ravens, and the scuffling of chipmunks through the leaves.

I will lean against a mountain, take in the view, and lose myself in wonder.

When I come across a side trail, I will take it, even if I don’t know where it goes. It will lead me through a new part of the forest, over the mountain, and down into the valley with the shadows of death. The path also leads me through my battered heart.

The path is my way and my refuge. I shall not want.