I was at Woodruff Scout Camp with Pack 841, doing scout things, but with a little time to myself. I wandered away from the campsite and into the woods, recording thoughts into my phone as I walked, stopped, and sat. I looked around and tried to notice whatever happened to be in front of me.

What follows is that recording of my experience, cleaned up a bit to be readable:

There is a bug walking on my fluorescent green T-shirt, which is for Pack 841, and would you believe I am just standing here right by this lake at Woodruff Scout Camp, trying to fish. Every now and then there is a noise or a voice or something from afar. The rest of the Scouts might have caught a fish, and I’m still waiting.

What color is the lake? It’s green. What kind of green do you think it is? Dark green? It’s a strange green. It’s not dark green. It’s like a polluted green or maybe not, like filled up with algae maybe… Do you think that goose is sitting on her egg over there?

The rustling sound of the dead, dried leaves from last year’s fall on the floor of this forest. A long, beautiful feather that is most likely from a hawk or another bird of prey, lying in the middle of all these brown dead-colored leaves.

Into the Woods

I cross two dry seasonal creeks and come to a halt at a fire pit made of big flat rocks with mortar in between, right in the middle of the woods, with nothing connected to it. No trails. No visible path showing that people have walked through here. No downtrodden path, except for a few big, maybe average-sized boulders kind of poking out of the leaves. Their surfaces are covered with fresh moss that is light green and, in the sunlight, so beautiful. Every now and then, the leaves of the trees above send a shadow over the moss. It’s like a moving thread of darkness over the light green.

I put the feather, which is more than a foot long, behind my ear and listen to the sound of the wind blowing through the leaves of these tall trees. Sometimes the big, long trunks of the trees rub against each other. They make a sound like a couple of sweaty, squeaky legs rubbing against each other.

The wind continues blowing, and I look around and see the dogwood trees shedding almost the last of their flowers over the dried, dead leaves, remnants of last year’s memories. On the floor of the forest, tiny little sprouts are springing up from underneath the leaves, in their own way shouting out the livelihood of life in the forest.

I see bumblebees. I see bugs, ants, wasps hovering over the leaves close to the floor of the forest. Every now and then, some little thing falls from the trees and you can hear a tiny thump.

I listened to a podcast the other day, and one of the points this guy was making was that if you go out for a walk in the woods, in nature, anywhere, and just look around, innovation, creation, inspiration, imagination come to you… And he was right.

It’s me all alone at this moment in the middle of the forest. I don’t see anyone and I don’t hear anybody’s voice. I’m here with the Scouts, but right now I am by myself next to a huge fallen tree, and I am going to sit on its branch, which is not really a branch. It’s a big, thick trunk, but it is horizontal, and it is filled with all these tiny leaf-looking fungi with a kind of mix of white and green color. They’re all over this fallen tree. I’m sure they are having a feast… Something inside my brain tells me to take a photo of this.

On another big branch of the tree, there are the same species of fungi, but they are brown. Underneath them is white, but in front of them is brown. Wait, let me see what I was looking at initially. It’s the same thing. I was looking at their backs and said they were kind of white and green. When I lift them up and look underneath, where all the reproductive system exists, they are actually brown. Hmm! So I got fooled!

But honestly, I don’t know which side is the front and which side is the back. Just because what I can see is whitish doesn’t mean that is the front. Maybe that’s the back. Maybe the reproducing part of these fungi is the front. One thing is clear to me. The reproductive part is brown, filled with tiny little things that I’m assuming contain all those spores and everything.

The tree branches are rubbing against each other with that creepy sound again. I’m just happy it’s not nighttime. Still hearing the wind, sitting on this fallen tree trunk, quietly trying to inhale and absorb something of a spirit in this unique air. See if it works. Breathing slowly looking at the big feather; this is so big. Could it be a hawk’s feather? I’m not sure. 

Just Listening

Let’s see what else I can hear if I simply close my eyes and listen. The wind blowing through the leaves of the trees. Dancing leaves on the trees. The sound of the dry leaves on the floor of the forest tripping and toppling over each other due to the wind. The sound of little dry twigs breaking from the tops of the trees and falling over the dry leaves. The wind is busy here! The sound of my own breathing and my own talking as I record my voice, clearing my throat in between, the wind blowing into my ear like a very soft touch on the back of a drum. The buzzing sound of bees flying around, and every now and then another type of bug flying. And the silence. Pure silence when there is no wind for a moment or two.

The vague, faded, weak sound of noise coming from the campsite, where the kids are playing and grown-ups are chatting around the campfire. The sound of an airplane, which is not loud. It’s remote, far far away in the sky.

Oh, I just saw one of those bugs that I saw at the lake during our guys retreat two years ago trapped in a spiderweb there. This one is just flying around and around, a couple of feet from my eyes, into the twigs and out of them. It is so beautiful. I can’t even see the fluttering of its wings.

Maybe it’s here to say hi.

I cannot hear its sound, but it is here. 

And the wind is back.

Some birds chirping.

Another rubbing of the high-rising tree branches against each other, which sounds like the door of a very old barn opening and making this weird noise at the hinges. A tired, exhausted sound.

The sound of something like a big boom that happened a lot last night when we were sleeping in our tent. It came from the campsite next to us. I just heard a couple of those again. It sounds like they’re banging on something, or maybe some type of firework.

And the birds chirping again.

Oh, here comes the April fly again, or the May fly I think. Now it is right in front of me, close to my eye. I’m sure he is, or she is, saying hi. 

It Is 3:56

I continue my walk in the woods. With every step on the dry leaves there is the crunching and cringing and breaking sound under my feet, as if it is fall, but it’s not fall. It’s April. 

To be exact, it’s April 18 at 3:55 p.m.

And the moment is gone.

It is 3:56.

Every moment comes and goes just like that, and it is up to us to live it. But honestly, how many of these moments do we actually live, realizing, right then, that the moment is leaving us?

I’m noticing this big, giant black ant walking over the leaves right in front of me on the floor of this forest and not giving a shit about how big the world is or how small he is, even though he’s a big ant. He’s doing what he’s supposed to do, the way he’s always known. He even went over my shoe, walking over it, underneath the straps, to the other side of my shoe, over the leaves, and on and about his business.

Who knows where he’s going and how he finds his way back home?

Beautiful. Everything in this forest is doing its own thing.

Everything in This Forest Is Doing Its Own Thing

Let me see what’s underneath these leaves, just out of curiosity. Let’s see what I can find right at this location. Okay! So this is the floor of the forest. I found the remnants of a double acorn, the head of it. It looks like a hat for little-bitty people. There is topsoil. A new plant. And possibly, if I scratch the topsoil with a stick, I could find what is underneath. This topsoil is made by all these leaves over time, over the years. It must be rich in nutrients. 

Oh, and there’s a daddy longlegs. She’s not so big, but still, it is a daddy longlegs. I might have disturbed her ambience. She’s going away.

And there’s this tiny, teeny little creature that I don’t know the name of. Maybe half a millimeter long, or maybe one-third of a millimeter. Round. Kind of walks too fast for its size.

A pine tree with flaky skin that peels off. This is so satisfying. Whenever I get to one of these, I have to peel off some of these flakes that come off the bark. I don’t know if she likes it or not. Maybe the tree doesn’t really care. But why is this so satisfying to me? Why does it give me a good feeling? Is it just because it gets cleaner, looks slicker? Is it because I’m getting rid of something unnecessary, in my perspective? Or maybe because it gives me a feeling of joy for helping another creature clean up or shed its skin? according to my view, of course! I don’t think that is the reason though.

Some of these chunks are really big. Underneath some of them, there are traces and trails of little “pesky” creatures that have been digging under there to lay their eggs or possibly use it as a route home.

And I found a little part that is bleeding sap. The sap of the pine tree. Let’s try it! It’s very sticky, and it smells pine. So good and refreshing.

Oh, I found another sap. Again, another sap in the sunlight. The sap looks yellow, but when I touch it with the tip of my finger, it’s not yellow. It’s white. And it smells so good. But it’s super sticky. It feels like glue, like the school glue, the white cheap ones. It feels just like that in texture and stickiness. It is randomly coming out of some spots under these flakes.

Why? Why does it even happen?

And I’m still flaking off the pieces, peeling the tree. Hey, Mr. Tree or Mrs. Tree, I hope you’re not mad at me. This is very satisfying, you know. I like doing this. And I see those areas where the sap has seeped out, and I wonder if those are because of the times you’re sad and you shed a tear or two. Poetic, don’t you think?

I think I better leave now. I hope you enjoyed my pruning and pedicuring, or maybe skin care, you sweet pine tree. You’re very tall. Don’t fall. I understand you’re competing with all these others. Oh, that other one is a tulip tree, and the other one is kind of a maple, and I also noticed some very big oak trees. But hang in there. You’re the crown. You’re the evergreen in this deciduous forest.

And moving on! Let’s see what else I’ll find in this forest, or how else I feel as I find my way back toward the campsite. How long has it been that I’ve been walking in this forest, or maybe pausing and sitting down and thinking, taking it in a few times?

And there is a gorgeous butterfly. A black butterfly with orange spots over at the top.

And here there is an interesting spiderweb that is so fragile that even with the tiniest breeze, it moves up and down. It is one of the unique ones I’ve seen because it is horizontal, and it’s not very visible either. It has very, very delicate webbing. I don’t know what it is connected to. Oh there is a tiny spider in the middle, waiting and waiting and waiting very patiently. 

Sometimes I wonder how extremely patient spiders are, waiting for a fly to get lost, possibly, or find its way to this trap and get stuck and become breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Who knows?

But this tiny spider is super patient. If only a tiny fraction of that patience were mine, it would be awesome. It’s really crazy. Let me take more of this in.

All right! Let’s slowly find my way back through these trees. 

And now I found another tree with all its bark opened up. Oh, look at this spider! This is an awesome spider. It looks just like the tree itself in color and pattern, white with very light green fungi spots. I think it hid under the bark of the tree, which is exactly the same color, light green-brown and white bark skin. The way some of those pieces of bark have bumped up and down creates tiny dots of black, and that’s exactly how the spider looks. And now it’s gone!

Now that I am peeling off this bark, I see traces of tiny creatures under there. They have dug and eaten their way through it, and most likely I am ruining their habitat. Or maybe the spider itself has done this. Who knows? It was a strange spider with no web or anything. Maybe that’s what the spider has done. Forest creatures! Don’t you love them? 

And peeling my way ahead.

The little poo left by those creatures underneath these flakes. So strangely beautiful, the life that goes on everywhere. 

They Just Are

And moving on again toward the campsite. Let’s see if this time we can actually make it to the campsite. I think I’ve had a lot of meditative time to myself walking in this forest, absorbing, noticing, watching, recording, and really trying to see things. Although I have to say, if I’m seeing things and recording those things, does that really count as truly seeing things? Doesn’t recording count as a distraction? As if I’m not really seeing things for the sake of seeing, but rather to record them, or talk about them, or try to describe them. 

And that’s not necessarily a good thing, nor a bad thing I guess. It’s all relative, anyway! To see things for what they are, not to try to describe them in colors, texture, sound, and taste, that is a very human thing to do. And by “human thing,” I mean invented by humans.

None of these things that I have tried to observe and describe have ever tried to describe other things. They have encountered and experienced and seen other things, although their memory is a whole different subject to talk about, maybe something to ponder and contemplate another time. Whether or not they have any memory of it  at all, oh, the sweet subject of consciousness…

But the fact that they don’t have a language, that they’re not even trying to describe the other things around them, makes me wonder. Maybe it’s an ant or a bird or a daddy longlegs, or a spider just sitting there patiently waiting for prey. I don’t think the spider ever gets bored from lack of a better use of time, or gets excited, or sees something and says, “Oh, look at this little fly coming my way. I wish it could get trapped in my web.” That’s not what the spider does. The spider simply waits without even thinking about it.

Even calling a spider “patient” is meaningless, because patience only means something when you compare it with impatience. Again, that’s a human thing too. You wouldn’t say somebody is patient unless you also understand the idea of somebody rushing. I mean the concept of it. Unless you know the concept of rushing through something, you wouldn’t know the concept, or the meaning, of being patient. And that’s just not the case for a spider, or maybe for any animal for that matter.

There’s nothing.

They just are.

That is the whole point.

And maybe me seeing things and recording them is against what the intention of this trip was, which was a true meditative act. If I’m recording everything, it’s not necessarily meditative but rather reactive.

It’s not true, in the real sense, of simply being. This whole thing comes after the being itself.