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When I was 22, I took (borrowed? – sorry bro) my brother’s two person pup tent (most likely a cub scout tent) and had a friend hike me several miles in to a remote location in Chautauqua County, NY. Perched as I was above a waterfall and my only egress criss-crossed by a creek, when a thunderstorm, stalwart with longevity, arrived, I was stranded. The creek quickly became impassible. My friend wasn’t due to return anytime soon, so I knew a good bit of hunkering down was required. I recall clearly how the tent collected water and ballooned down into a deep pool just inches from my face. My woodswoman skills were lacking so I just lay there for four days - hungry, wet, and reading. Snuggled in with William S. Burroughs and Jack Kerouac, we three watched as the tent drooped closer and closer. It’s funny how I don’t recollect the fear. And looking back now, I smile at the simple luxury of being in a nest I didn’t need to leave.
Last winter as I zillowed my way through the colder months in upstate NY, I recalled those nights alone in the forest. I tried to bring my memory back to what it felt like as the thunder rolled through again and again during the deepest hours and I lay there, wide-eyed and awake, a thin slip of orange nylon the only thing between me and the heckfires of nature. Somehow I had been brave enough to get myself to the top of that waterfall and to seek out solitude. Where was that woman now, I wondered, as my 50somethingish self put off going to the grocery store yet again in order to avoid leaving the house.
Now I find myself hunkered down once more, although this time it is not the unpredictable nature of nature that bears down on me, but the social anxieties of encountering and being around new people and other beings. This past weekend here at undisclosed location, Momma Donna and Dan hosted a “We Love You” party in celebration of, well, love! Musicians and artists, hippies and dreamers, and yes dogs, gathered as a community to create, explore, eat, connect, and be – a family vibe driven by love and a shared love of music that is the undercurrent of all that here is.
As Friday drew closer, so did my anxieties. Over and over I imagined myself tripping on an unleashed dog or getting knocked over as one greeted me with a friendly jump. I knew with certainty that people would discover my fraudulence and would know I didn’t belong – because, well, after all…did I belong anywhere? And who was this “I” who was so worried about belonging anyway? My mind became muddled and distracted by these persistent thoughts and any stability gained via my practice was well shaken up and stirred. So, I stayed glued to my campsite, a space apart from the rest and as far into the trees as I could get. The evensong of the gathering sent tendrils through the forest as I held fast to my relentless paranoia. At dusk, I finally ventured down only to watch little muffins of dog fluff tearing around at breakneck speed. I made it to the swings and headed back. I am asking – who the hell is afraid of a tiny puff of fur? Or a muster of hippies? Well, that would be me.
Friday night, as the music I had waited all week to hear reached my nest in the woods, I lay stricken with the notion that I had let my new friends down. I bargained and bartered with myself that staying solitary would be best for my practice, but in my heart I knew – I was officially Queen of Avoidance. The next morning when Momma Donna came to check on me with her gentle and reassuring way, I knew at once that there was nothing to forgive. An easiness of being returned to me through her loving kindness and although trepidation followed me down to the gathering, I saw that it had been my mind after all. As Momma Donna and I loped down the path, my new friend Ray stood by his car as though waiting for me. Welcomed with a hug and many exclamations, I realized how dearly I had been missed.
The storm had passed. And, luckily for me the party continued that day…and well on into the next.
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Epilogue Interestingly enough, on day three of my rain-filled adventure all those many years ago, I awoke to the sight of several (not small) collared dogs lounging around my campsite. They stayed with me until I could make it across the creek and then all but one left. That dog - well, he never left my side until we made it the several miles back to town and to his owner. I am forever grateful to this dog as he more than likely saved my life. But that, dear reader, is a story for another day.
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