UNIVERSE WITHIN by Gwen Randall-Young

The clearest way into the universe is through a forest wilderness
– John Muir

Recently I spent a week on the Pacific, alternating between hiking along the ocean and through the rainforests. It was fall. Summer vacationers had returned to the city, so I felt secluded.
My accommodation was a rustic cabin, with a woodstove – no television, no telephone (not even cell phone reception) and no Internet access. The only sound was the gentle crashing of the waves upon the shore.
As there were often no people in sight, the experience, at times, felt surreal.
Walking along the beach in the morning mist, the vast sea on one side, and towering spruce trees on the other, I imagined what it must have been like for the earliest settlers.
It was not surprising, I mused, that the First Nations have such a deeply rooted spirituality. This land is infused with spirit. Breathing in the clear, moist air feels like breathing in the spirit of the Earth.
Entering the rainforest is like entering a sacred realm. It is so quiet. The tall trees, hundreds of years old, reach up to the sky. Most days the sunlight filtered through the trees, illuminating the forest floor. Green life sprouts everywhere in the rainforest: mosses, ferns, or new little trees growing out of nurse logs (bigger trees that have fallen to the ground).
These massive trunks, even in death, nurture new life. The forest also renews those who venture into its depths. And, I believe it speaks to us, infusing in us a deep wisdom. The following is some of what I learned from the forest:

• There is tremendous power in silence. We can really only connect with ourselves, our own inner spirit, when it is silent. The forest is full of powerful, vibrant energy, yet it does not say a word. Perhaps humans sometimes should simply connect with the energy of other humans rather than the usual talk - what is your name and what do you do?

• The forest has no agenda, no schedule and no goals. It just is. Each living organism simply lives. It does not worry about what other organisms are doing. All of them peacefully co-exist, even if moss, for example, decides to make its home right on top of another living thing. There are no territoriality issues here.

• A stream in the forest flows peacefully. If there is an obstacle, it gently flows around it. The stream knows its direction, but is unattached to following a certain path. It does not insist that rocks or trees change or rearrange themselves to facilitate its journey.

• The forest is self-sufficient because of interdependence. The ferns on the forest floor keep it cool, and help it to retain moisture. Fallen logs provide nurturance for new life.

• The forest is tenacious. At the edge of the rainforest of my adventure, where the Earth is lashed by winter waves, trees, slanted by forces that should fell them, and exposed roots, cling ferociously to the rocks.

Most profoundly, I realized that when we enter the forest, we become part of it. We are no stranger there. We are enveloped by the power and the mystery, and the place where the forest ends, and we begin, becomes blurred. We breathe it in, and it becomes part of our physical and spiritual essence. And when we leave, a part of the forest stays with us. The sights, sounds, smells and textures are recorded at a cellular level.
Go to the forest. It awaits you. You will come out with much more than that which you went in with.
 Gwen Randall-Young is an author and psychotherapist in private practice. For articles, and information about her books and CDs go to (www.gwen.ca).  See display ad this issue.