Becoming Forest

Notes from the Forest's Edge November 13, 2024

The forest is almost still now as I sit in awe. The air on my skin seems to only move if I do, as if it is patiently waiting for me to lead the dance. Same with the thick layer of bone dry leaves at my feet, not a sound until I move. From time to time a squirrel leaves it arial runways to dash across the forest floor. The leaves amplify their tiny feet to sound like the crashing of bears. I am acutely aware that I must sound like a giant to this still, dry world.

It's been like this almost every day since Hurricane Helene ravaged these mountains and dumped an ocean on us. Now it's still and drier than I've ever seen it. I know that outside of this little valley there are humans busy with chainsaws and track hoes, moving trees and parts of houses that got washed away. But here in this little holler is simple stillness.

I can see the mountains now the leaves have fallen, their dragon ridges flowing south to north along the horizon, great slumbering beasts laying on hoards of treasure. I sense my body wanting to move, to make some noice, to at least make the air move with song, to resist the stillness. There has been so much to do these last weeks as we've been trying to re-orient after the storm, little time for stillness. But the forest is calling for me to settle, to surrender to the quiet.

As I sit on the warm earth watching the tree shadows stretched east by the sun dipping west, I let my edges expand, stop holding them in so tight. I can sense the fading sun to my right, the cooling air to my left, the glowing dragon mountains in front and the warm, safe, slope behind me.

My awareness toggles between sensing myself being cradled by the valley and me being the one holding the valley together. Not physically holding it together, I understand this ancient landscape won't fall apart when I get up to go home. But holding together this experience of the valley in the way it is right now in this moment. I am the only human here witnessing it in my uniquely human way. The squirrels, spiders and birds are experiencing it each in their own unique ways too. I'm not special, but I am here, aware.

Then I flip back into feeling held by the valley, sensing that all of them are simultaneously witnessing the valley with me in it. I am witnessed, the one seen and sensed.

As I continue to sit, still, silent, my mind is more and more able to not need the experience to be one or the other. The edges of our cultural pattern of separation become porous and I can experience myself as witnessed and held while simultaneously witnessing and holding the other experiencers.

I become forest.

Not human in forest but a human expression of forest.

Ah, yes! Stillness and silence, I remember you medicine of winter. Thank you, thank me for being willing to stop.

What happens for you dear one, when you stop and are quiet?

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Notes from the Forest Edge is a bi-monthly exploration of the liminal space between human and forest consciousness, rooted in a small farm in the Southern Appalachian mountains.