Best Self

A friend once said to me, “Your best self happens out here! The Trail brings it out in you.”

What is a “best self”?

I have been asking this question a lot these days. With the weight of the times we are living in, it is more important than ever. How do we access our best self on a regular basis? In what places does it show up? Around whom?

What is the best configuration of your skills and passions, your longings, learnings, leanings? Is there a place in nature you can go to listen for the answer?

~ KB

In Full Bloom

It has happened again: the flowers on the redbuds and dogwoods have faded. I always feel sad when this happens! a friend said the other day. But deep in the forest, nestled by the stream, the umbrella magnolias are carrying the torch for them.

When I first saw their magnificent buds in bloom a few years ago, I thought it was a flock of doves. I crept slowly towards the forest, certain I would scare off the birds, then realized they were not birds at all. I stood there in a bit of disbelief, as I had never seen anything like them.

Had I not noticed the flicker of white as the sun was setting I would surely have missed them. There is no sound to announce their arrival, but interestingly their scent is quite pungent. A good reminder that nature has its own fanfare.

On any single tree, there may be hundreds of flowers in various states of blooming. All in their own time and in their own way. No two buds are exactly alike. I sometimes forget that’s the case with everything in nature.

I always feel peace is possible when I see the flowers of the umbrella magnolia looking like doves, or hands reaching towards the sky with hope.

~ KB

In "Nice" Weather

Today is the first time I have ever started up the mountain when it was raining and cold.

I have certainly gotten wet on the Trail before, but that is a rare occurrence, and happened when a storm kicked up unexpectedly in late summer.

In contrast, today is a raw, gray, mid-February evening. We have had rain for the past few days, and it was in the forecast again today. So there were no surprises.

I am not complaining here. Or at least I shouldn’t be. My dad recently shared that the Michigan winter has been so brutal that a friend who lives up there has not left the house in a week. Besides, my dad went out for a walk today too, and he is 88.

These two brave souls provided enough inspiration for me to break through my wimp status, enough to force me out and face the elements — light rain! Funny, even though it was only a slight variance in the weather, I felt like I was doing something new. Stepping past a barrier, even though it was a very small one in the great scheme of things.

And I was. Stepping out beyond a habituated pattern of walking only in “nice” weather. Interesting how we define whether the weather is nice based on how it suits our temperament, and not the earth or the animals. I wonder what they would have to say about today?

What I gained from venturing out today was a private path that belonged only to me, and a few other brave souls. I was held inside the forest walls for one brief hour, as if I had entered a grand cathedral.

I find this is especially true when I hike in the winter. The trees seem to know they must huddle together. Researchers say trees actually do communicate. I can’t help believe this is true.

I wonder how it varies from season to season. Do they look out for each other even more in temperature extremes? How do they experience temperature shifts?

I will have to find out and report back to you. Till then, may the forest floor support you, may the trees look after you.

~ KB

"Witch" Way?!

I am not letting the fact that I don’t have a party to go to stop me from dressing up. It’s Halloween after all, and I am claiming my inner witch!

I decide to step out with my camera and descend upon the Monticello Trail for a walk, certain I will pass someone I know, someone I can corral into taking my picture. At the very least, folks in their hiking garb will get a laugh.

On the uphill, I pass one person after the next going about their business. But they don’t seem to register that I am here meandering up a mountain with a chartreuse, silk, witches hat with fake spiders clinging to the veil.

I start to get worried and a little embarrassed. Maybe the hikers are so used to seeing me in some kind of wacky outfit that I don’t phase them one bit, or maybe I am successfully blending into the surrounding terrain like those camouflage frogs. Or maybe, just maybe folks are deep in meditation and have a lot on their mind. After all, they’re not a party, either. Besides, this is the time to connect with the other side, when the veil is the thinnest, or so I have heard.

I know that a good ghoul’s joy is not contingent upon someone noticing them. Well, maybe not. If someone dresses up in the forest and there’s nobody to see them? Just sayin.’ At least something about this dressing-up thing liberates my soul from the confines of expectation and habit and sets it free.

After all, I am out in the cold like a kid trick-or-treating who’s hoping to getting plastic, pumpkin faces full of Caravelle candy bars. And I am being powerful, embracing my inner witch with this scratchy wig. And the inner child who loved being scared by a spooky story, well, she’s feeling free to remember…

How my mom loved Edgar Allan Poe and used to read “The Tell-Tale Heart” to me and my sister with such conviction that her words sent us running through the halls screaming. And even though we were momentarily scared, we felt safe in our fear, knowing it was temporary, and would wear off soon.

Suddenly, I spot some friends up the way who are heading towards me on the path, and I stop them in their tracks to strike a pose. After mild coercion, one of them captures this shot (above). There’s joy there in those locks. I had given up hope I would find a willing, All-Hallow’s-Eve photojournalist, but I did.

Running down the mountain howling in delight, I hear the sound of my mom’s stories nipping at my heels, the words of my truth reverberating up from the earth like its heartbeat.

Which way, witch? Which way?

To joy, to joy, I say!

It’s not too late.

~ KB

Thank you, Natascha

I came upon this beautiful poem by Natascha in my collection of We’Moon Calendars. I practiced reading the words out loud over and over, but every time I did, I would burst out sobbing. It took over a month to get to the point that I could make it through the entire poem without breaking down. The words and truths resonated so deeply within me. The idea that one can use the gift of sight to see the divine in everything. That the act of seeing the beauty in something is your own bit of alchemy you can offer the world. That each of us is the one doing the work. And all of us together can create a transformational wave.

~ KB

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