KNOWING, by Robin August

I have been preparing for this journey for a long time without even knowing. This story is about knowing and about feeling true acceptance about where I am at this moment in time, physically and emotionally. It is about letting go of outside rules. It is about living even with the imposition of illness. And finally, it is about calling myself home.

There is a road up above the mountain cove where I live. Last year, I started to explore a little but the road was very rocky and I had some anxiety about what damage it might do to my car. So, at first, I never really ventured far. But just at the beginning of this road, I discovered the most incredible raspberry patch that I had ever seen. For weeks last summer I was consumed (or I should say that I consumed); I would get my knapsack out and literally scale the side of this mountain in order to get to this virgin patch. I went back again this summer but the novelty wore off after a few quarts of berries and on each trip, I endeavored to go further and further up this road. One day, I came upon a closed iron gate and a no trespassing sign. I struggled momentarily only about whether I should follow the rules or not. Being that I am a somewhat counter-dependent person, this didn't confine me for long and I started out on this seemingly forbidden path.

What amazed me was that the path was clear and well worn but there were no signs of development that I could find. No houses, no electric wires, no roads. I culled some wild hydrangea flowers to use in my collages, collected other wildflowers, and took some photos. I suppose that, in looking back on my hikes, I fleeted along from one interest to another without too much purpose or end result in mind. Last week, I finally felt ready to take this path to its end, if there was one. But I also decided that the end just wasn't important and that this wasn't about a goal or an end; it was about listening to and taking care of my physical and spiritual self. It wasn't about finding the answers to my illness. I have learned over the past few months that I will not find the answers by looking for them. If there is an answer to be found, it will come because I have embarked on this journey, not as a result of it. And I have already grown so much that the end seemed unimportant.

So.... I started to do a meditative walk, trying just to be in touch with my body and my senses. My pace slowed, I did breath work, and I focused. I went around a big bend and through some brambles, and then the path narrowed. I thought that I had come to the end of this path and yet a faint trail continued. And then I saw, in the middle of nowhere, a very large but simple wooden cross made from saplings, spliced together with rope. I thought that maybe I had found a cemetery. Well, a cemetery would be quite interesting to me, as I had recently struggled with my fears about death. I had come to have a peace about it after having a vision of how, when I died, I would just meld into these leaves and this soil. I was finally unafraid. But even after I found this peace, after realizing that I wasn't going to die just now, this image of the moments following death still came. I finally realized that this image was really about resting and surrendering, giving in but not giving up. Death of course is the ultimate rest, but in my illness, I need another way to rest. Not rest in the traditional sense, as this seems to do little for me. Rather, to rest with patience and stillness. A stillness where I can somehow still be creative.

I must digress a bit about my views about creativity and nature. On one hike that was spiritually moving for me, I came upon a very large boulder beside a striking tree. When I saw it for the first time, I felt full of creativity. The stone and tree bonded together and appeared like a unified sculpture. I found that I could actively move around them and with each step, a new sculpture would emerge. I wanted to paint these sculptures, to photograph or to write about them. I wanted to emblazon them in my mind. I also found that if I stood still long enough, the light would change causing the sculpture to be re-created once again. So, the following realization came: If I have enough energy and feel well, I can actively be part of a creation. But if I am feeling ill, I can just rest, and in the resting, time will pass, the light will change, and I can still be a part of rebirth.

So.... I move towards this cross and see a large pile of stones. And I find that this is not a cemetery at all. It is a place that others come to leave the burdens that are in their hearts. For me however, it is what I have come to call "my resting-place". And when I am strong, I hike to this place and I write or draw or photograph or collect. And when I am too tired to plan or actively create, I just lie atop these rocks on this sacred ground, let the earth envelop me, and watch nature ingeniously unfold around me. I can be active or passive in my own healing but no matter what, I can experience the changes with the knowing, physical sense that now exists in my body and in my being.