Fear and Making Friends With the Forest

It has been seven weeks since I arrived. I can feel the continual letting go, releasing accumulated stress, fatigue, and the need to take care of others. I have rested so much, and I am amazed at the layers peeling off me, in pockets beyond where I realized they were held. I can also feel the survival part of me that keeps getting activated, living and moving alone through a country I don’t know and only speak a little of the language. When I travel to a new town, when I arrive at a new place to rest, I can feel myself scanning to understand what is safe, trying to see markers that will help me to orient to this new culture. What does it mean when there are bars on the windows or lots of stray dogs in the streets? Where should I expect streetlights and does that help? What do I need to know to be aware of my surroundings?

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I am playing with the familiar patterns inside of me, the ones that want me to be appropriate, helpful, and not take up too much space or be too noticeable. To do that in a foreign country, I have to learn the rules and the culture so I can fit in, minimizing missteps. I am observing this as part healthy humility and part unhealthy old patterns that, while softer, still appear in this environment where everything and everyone is new.

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I am watching this dance inside of me with compassion and curiosity.  It is not just people and places, but the land and the jungle. Nature has always been my escape, the place I go when people or life feel too busy or too much, but the jungle is different. It is intense and dense and full of lifeforms I don’t yet know. It is easy to feel afraid when you know there are plenty of deadly insects and snakes that blend into the forest with ease. But it seems like the logical place to start, and the nature of this place is a big part of why I chose this country to spend this time.

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I am learning, taking it at my own pace. Yesterday and today, I went for solo walks in the jungle, and although there were times that I felt fearful, I just kept trying to pause, listen, and ground. I realized that I have to slow down and take a naturalist walk instead of an exercise hike! With my slower pace and observer's mind I am paying attention to and attuning to different things: who’s seeds are on this trail? Their little packets of hope and genetic material that birth the next generation of forest. What kind of fungal fruiting body is that bright orange cup – or those bright red disks? What is the liquid collected by the boa-rooted tree that the little poison dart frog is drinking from its edge? At the small waterfall grotto at the beginning of the trail, who is a vine, and which are the dangling roots of an epiphyte? Which of these trees with the amazing buttressed roots are holding up their neighbors and which are actually clonal reproductions of themselves? The layers of this forest are amazing, profoundly rich, and fecund with diversity. So many beings to listen to and learn from, to befriend.

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These observations changed the whole dynamic of my walk and fear melted away because I wasn’t trying to pass through a scary unknown dark forest on my way to getting somewhere, but instead, I was meeting new friends. When I arrived at the river and the opening in the forest, I looked up to see a beautiful small and striped hawk circling over my head. I took this as a new friend welcoming me and reminding me to always pull back and look at the bigger picture. It is a great reminder that if I slow down, take a step back, open my mind, and get grounded, my natural curiosity and creativity will come on board. When this happens things seem to work themselves out in unexpected ways. Part of the joy of the unknown is these synchronistic discoveries.