The Woods

There are certain things that I do to manage everything that’s happened in my life. Anyone who has been around me for even a few months, can probably list off two or three things they know I do to keep the demons at bay so I can stay well. Exercise, work, lifting heavy things, and hiking.

It’s often hard to explain my need to go into the woods and up to the mountains. Because of an intense worry about being judged if I truly speak my mind, I’ll jokingly say, “When I need to restore my faith in humanity, I get away from it.” In all honesty, that’s more truth than ironic humor.

There are few places that I find peace and can just be. Where the stressors of the day and dark imprint of the past fade to the background so completely that I can barely make out an outline in the distance. It’s in those places, in those moments, that the torrents of my soul begin to calm. Not completely, but the current slows and the ebbing flow allows those things I normally cannot express come to the surface. The things that are so tightly packed away in the depths of my being subside and the memories of years gone by release their grip just enough for me to be, even momentarily, at peace.

While scrolling through the never ending but mostly disappointing expanse of the internet I ran across this poem by Mary Oliver. In her book Swan: Poems and Prose, she writes “How I go to the woods.” Considering how I came across it I feel safe sharing it in its entirety here. If you find it as meaningful as I do, feel free to follow the link for options to purchase her book.

HOW I GO TO THE WOODS

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable.

I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree, I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours.

Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeks, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unbearable sound of the roses singing.

If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

~Mary Oliver, Swan: Poems and Prose

There’s a deep meaning for me personally with this poem. First and foremost, I don’t generally express much emotion anymore. I’ve never been that great at expressing things outright. Much of that rooted deeply in events long buried in my past, and yet the simple announcement in the last sentence of this poem allows an expression of love that I can never seem to get right with those that I do love.

My internal conflict with my religion and beliefs are often a raging tempest lying just under the surface of my being. The concept of praying in nature, with nature, and of nature is something that may unconsciously happen while I wander through the woods.

Then the very idea of becoming invisible… in those moments, I become invisible to the pain. For fleeting moments I’m able to slow my perception of time and hold on to peace just long enough to reenergize.

I hope you can find your Woods and those moments of peace.