Doing Nothing

Have you ever sat in a forest and just listened? Not just walked through a forest, but really listened? I raise the question because I could picture it in my mind the other day. I was able to transport myself through memories back to another time when I sat quietly in a forest and was able to allow it to soak in. It may seem odd, writing about that in the brutal cold of a winter when trees are bare and snow drifts cover the ground. But maybe that is the best time to think of it.

It seems that a lot of people cannot allow themselves to sit and listen, they have to be "doing something". They have a need to be busy and moving. Such people perceive lack of motion as a lack of character. But I contend that taking the time to relax, let go of the world, and enjoy a little bit of the wondrous creation around us is not only "doing something", but doing something profound and beneficial.

So often we are swept up in the world of humans, with its expanses of concrete and machinations of steel and glass, that we can no longer appreciate the quiet moments in life. We are drowning in the cacophony of human noise and we have no clue how loud it really is.

There are times when I would give nearly anything to catapult myself out of this chaos and into the middle of the woods, far beyond the sound of man-made existence, and simply rest, taking it all in. The sights, sounds, and feel of the forest fills you and naturally pushes out the more stressful things of life. It is very much "doing something" by moving very little.

It is easy for me to imagine being there, in the middle of some woods, as I spent many days of my youth hunting through the hills and hollows. I would be out in the woods for hours hunting squirrels or deer. As I get older, and presumably more responsible, I find it difficult to get both the time and the motivation to go hunting as I did once before. Come to think of it, part of the reason for not wanting to go may be "fences".

You see, in my younger years, I could trek through the woods for hours and never see a fence, a road, or any sign of human existence. Growing up in the Appalachian Mountains, it was not hard to find such a place. But now, with many years and many miles between me and that time of yesteryear, those opportunities are much rarer. People and companies ward off their land, erecting fences and gates, presumably for our "protection", but mostly just "because its their land".

I suppose it is their right, as the property owners. Still, I remember vividly those days in my youth when I could spend an entire day out in the woods far beyond the range of any fences or gates. I was free to roam where I may. Those days are gone I suppose and we all have to make do with smaller worlds.

Yet even with only a few acres of trees, you can still transport yourself into nature's realm. It's easy for me to picture but quite hard to describe actually. Words that come to mind are "fresh", "clear", and "hopeful". I don't know why those words come to mind, but they do. Well, at least in late Spring and early Summer these are fitting words. Other seasons have different feelings, and different words. But for now, I will just consider "summer".

When most people venture into the woods they create so much noise, all they hear are themselves clumsily tromping through leaves and brush. And that is not really a problem, but you have to stop and settle in order to hear most sounds of the forest. So after the din of moving, that is when you need to sit back against a tree - don't worry about the bugs, most of them will not bother you - and start to let go.

So you sit there, amid the shade of countless trees, with your back up against rough bark and leave the world of concrete and steel behind.

At first, you hear very little. Your ears have been desensitized to the quieter sounds. The world of man is much louder than the forest. Your ears soon attune to the new sounds around them. The wind blows the leaves of the trees above you creating a hiss much like the sound of a receding wave at the beach. Small birds and animals flit and dart about looking for something to eat creating small fits of sound in all directions. Your brain is now adjusting to this new sound level. You have taken the first step into a different world.

As you relax and your breathing slows, you become more aware of the forest around you. You hear it. You smell it. You feel it.

In the hidden depths of the forest, birds chirp and call out to each other. A wood pecker hammers out its presence. Somewhere overhead a hawk rings out its poetic cry. With each wave of the tree tops, you become further removed from focusing on yourself, and more aware of life all around you. Abundant life, with creatures in their daily effort to eat and thrive, is evident everywhere.

Eventually, after your brain has adjusted to the sound level, you hear more of the details, more of the small bits of life. You hear the scratches of a squirrel's claws as it clamors up a tree, the sound of a bug nibbling on some leaves. You may even hear the sound of a deer bounding away somewhere out of sight.

You feel breezes blowing over your arms and face and through your hair. As the trees open holes to the sky, drops of sunlight fall in around you. Where the beams of sun touch you, you feel the sun's warmth. With a blue sky peeking around the trees, and the sunlight raining down, perspectives change.

That vision, or description, or whatever you desire to call it, may sound quaint, or simply trite to some. It may even sound a bit naive. But I don't think so. I have been there many times. I have sat in forests and done "nothing" numerous times, simply to be there. And countless times I have gone back there, most often in my mind, simply so that I may reset, or reboot, myself.

Time to get back to work I guess. Signed on to a computer, in an office, a million miles yet only a thought away from the serenity of a mountain woodland.

Copyright 2011, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)