The Wisdom of Wilderness: Experiencing the Healing Power of Nature by Gerald G. May

Author:Gerald G. May
Language: ru
Format: mobi, pdf
Tags: aVe4EvA
Publisher: HarperCollins e-books
Published: 2007-06-19T20:00:00+00:00

Seven. A PERFECTION OF TREES

And then we will go on to the high caverns in the rock which are so well concealed . . .

—SAINT JOHN OF THE CROSS, SPIRITUAL CANTICLE

It was downright stupid to wear cowboy boots to the mountain in the snow. They provide no traction at all. But it hadn’t been snowing at home and shoes were the last thing on my mind because I was leaving fast. I needed to get away.

I didn’t usually go into the wild to get away from something. Most of the time it was that familiar growing yearning and feeling of rightness that it was time to go. On this occasion, however, I knew I was escaping. It wasn’t a longing that drew me, but a pressure that drove me. You don’t have to be a psychiatrist to know the difference.

It was the end of a particularly awful week in a February from hell. I had been surrounded by negativity for the whole month. I had disappointed several people, hurt them, made them angry. I had been selfish and inconsiderate. I felt responsible for all of it, a failure at everything. I needed to escape.

I left on Friday after work; I just pulled on the stupid boots, threw some winter things into the car, and took off. It was too late in the day to make it all the way to my really wild mountain. I just planned to get to Catoctin or Cunningham Falls, regular parks but out there, far enough away from friends and family, home and work. I brought the tent, hoping to find a campground open in the winter, but by the time I got to the mountains it was dark and I was exhausted so I bought a six-pack and signed into a cheap motel for the night. I turned on the television, flopped on the bed, drank beer, and felt crummy. I tried to pray, but all that came out was “Help.” Looking back, I guess that’s about as good and honest as prayer can be, but at the time it felt like yet another failure. I was a bum, a heel, a worthless fake of a person. I was no good at work, no good for my family or friends, just causing trouble for the people I loved, and I couldn’t even come up with a decent prayer. It was a perfection of awfulness, feeling that way and lying in a dumpy motel room in my cowboy boots, drinking beer with the old black-and-white television sputtering. During the night I heard snow and sleet crackling on the roof and on the pavement outside.

In the morning I was up before first light, feeling better. Maybe it was the good night’s sleep, but mainly I think it was the promise of the snowfall, the freshness of it, and knowing that I’d soon be fully in it, on a mountainside among the trees. I picked up a breakfast at a McDonald’s drive-through and headed up the mountain road.

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