One day this fall, I lay on my back listening to a nearby stream.  The ground was hard and a little lumpy, but felt good. It took me a moment to adjust, to slow down, to have no agenda, to quiet my mind and just be.

As the noise of life receded, I could hear bees going from flower to flower. A slight wind stirred the aspen leaves, their fall yellow sparkling against an incredible, deep blue sky.

Closing my eyes, I felt the sun’s warmth on my face. My body had adjusted and now sank into the earth like the fallen leaves around me.  

I could feel – almost hear – my heartbeat.  Steady and sure.  I know it has beaten almost every second of my entire life, but now I really heard it and felt it. It felt like life, but almost always taken for granted. But not here, not now.

Am I disconnected from my life, or only now really connecting with it, feeling a part of it?  I think how everything in nature is connected.  The worm that no doubt is crawling through the ground underneath me connected somehow to the tree branch that lies above me. The bee connected to the flower, and the stream connected to all living things. 

I think about the deer I saw on my way here, her body lying in a mangled pile by the side of the road, the asphalt smeared with her blood. She was connected to the water, her instincts telling her to drink before bedding down for the night.  And I think of her fawns, now helpless and alone. All so some driver could shave a few minutes off their trip.

In the “real” world we are all alone, no matter how many people are around us.  Searching for meaning, searching for connection.  

I find that connection and meaning here, alone in the wild. I am part of this, I come from this and I am part of something bigger and better than myself.  Everything here is connected.  Even me, in some small, barely perceived way, though I rarely if ever acknowledge it in my busy day-to-day life.

I like feeling small and insignificant. That seems real and honest. But I also feel connected to something much bigger, better and eternal — if we don’t screw it up. We should all feel humble and small sometimes — it’s a good antidote for human hubris and self-obsession. I don’t spend enough moments like this. 

Wilderness is balm for the soul.  The “real” world feels so fast, artificial and devoid of any real meaning. Only here do I feel the preciousness of my life and of all living things around me. We are not alone. All life is connected, if only we would open our minds to this.  

All too soon, I have to get up and rejoin the “real world,” and answer that email, return that call, make that meal, attend that meeting. I will try to carry forward the feeling, the perspective I gained from my time in wilderness.

In this 60th anniversary year of the 1964 Wilderness Act, I am especially grateful for those who had the foresight to recognize that our country needed — and still needs — to preserve some of our public lands for future generations to experience in their original glory, “untrammeled” by humans. Perhaps Henry David Thoreau said it best – “In the wild (lies) the preservation of the world.”

Mike Browning is a volunteer wilderness ranger for the U.S. Forest Service and the Eagle Summit Wilderness Alliance.

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<figcaption class="wp-element-caption">Mike Browning</figcaption><figcaption>Courtesy photo</figcaption>

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