Directive Destiny

Nearing the edge of the forest, a previously unnoticed pathway guided us through a perimeter of deep-purple flowering shrubs seeping out from the wooded boundary. As we approached the hedged border, I intensely paused at the expressive nature of bountiful blood red, multi-pedaled, thorned flowers peering out from beneath the dark leaves. The shyness of the flowers and theatrical dominance of their protective foliage left me with an unnerving feeling of emotional conflict, as if they represented more of a warning than just a contrasting adornment. This unknowing sent mixed emotional apprehensions threading through my thoughts urging me not to enter, but Angela and the others continued onward without hesitation, so I had no choice but to follow them.
Stepping prominently onto the mossy forest floor, the transition to this pristine woodland, abundant with evergreen and hardwood trees, awakened all of my senses. Angela and the other two women, Elizabeth and Nancy, led the way with Ed and me bringing up the rear on the narrow, well camouflaged, trail. Beneath the giant timbers lay an array of ferns, vines, and wild orchids that would surpass even the greatest painter’s vision. With cascades of sunlight rushing through the bright green canopy above, the details of contrasting colors grew ever clearer.
As we ventured deeper into the woods, the tapestry of our environment became more vibrant and alive. I could feel the dynamics of our seclusion calling me to an understanding of crisp solitude that could be found nowhere else. It felt liberating. We soon teamed up with a well-worn path alongside a smooth, rock laden, and gently flowing stream. It presented us with a choice of transitioning to the right, into a deeper blend of browns and greens skillfully charging up a sleepy hillside, or to the left where the stream split into two smaller side-by-side brooks flowing like a painter‘s brush through the shadows of watchful evergreens. With skillful certainty our capable guide by-passed the hillside in favor of a pathway paralleling the pleasing brooks. Reaching a widening of the trail where two fallen trees provided a perfect pair of natural benches, Angela asked us to find a comfortable seat, close our eyes and relax. After reassuring us that nothing could reach or harm us in this protected place, she instructed us to consciously focus on our breathing by taking in slow, deep breaths beyond the capacity of our lungs, and into our stomach, holding it as long as we comfortably could, and then slowly letting it out again. She called it, “belly breathing”, and said that these full, cleansing breaths would help keep us relaxed and focused while sharpening our physical and mental acuity as well. “An attribute you will find most helpful in what you are about to experience,” Angela claimed.
We followed Angela’s instructions as she shared with us some of the sacred beliefs her ancestors passed down, concerning the spiritual significance of the trees and animals of these forests. She revealed her personal beliefs in secret and invisible realms spoken of in legends and ages past, while inviting us to keep our minds open and our thoughts clear. Her words resonated with the depth of her wisdom, and the expanse of her knowledge seemed endless. When she stopped talking, we all sat quietly with our eyes closed and listened to the meticulous sounds of an unspoiled nature. After several minutes, Angela said softly, “Once you feel completely relaxed, both physically and mentally, continue belly breathing and maintain your relaxed state, but, keeping your thoughts clear, open your eyes and shift your awareness to all of your senses, both physical and intuitive. Let the story they tell unveil every aspect of the beauty that surrounds us, not as a passive witness but as an active participant. Above all, pay special attention to how each of your senses complements the others and remember how that makes you feel. Being acutely aware of your emotions is what helps you to remember. This is because your ability to recall each moment is enhanced by the intensity of the feelings you associate with the memory.” She said this to all four of us, but I knew her emphasis was meant for me. Mindful of my inexperience, she wanted to make sure I understood the full significance of her words.
I remained still and at ease, pushing away the usual mind-filling distractions of random thoughts, as best I could, while silently encouraging my mind to take in the full symphony of Mother Nature’s backdrop. About twenty feet in front of us three frisky red squirrels started playfully chasing each other through the underbrush, bouncing off the trunks of fall colored oaks and sugar maples, while, somewhere up in the branches, the methodical hammering of a determined woodpecker echoed through the leaves.
With another quick reminder of the importance of all our senses, Angela again asked us to briefly close our eyes and to try and distinguish the diversity of fragrances in the air. “Your sense of smell is directly linked to your memories,” She told us, “It plays an important role in the degree of emotions attached to them.” I turned my head slowly from side to side. The sweet, earthy smell brought back warm childhood memories of kneeling next to my mom as she worked meticulously in her many gardens. I remember how much patience she had teaching me to recognize and name various plants and understand the difference between the numerous varieties of perennials and herbs and the look-alike “weeds” that grew right alongside of them. She explained how some flowers carried a greater worth or importance than others simply because of their color or shape or even just because of tradition. She also pointed out that most of the people that held those beliefs just pulled the other so-called weeds out and threw them away, even though it seemed plain to me that their vibrant colors and complex designs made them just as beautiful and original as the other plants. So, in her loving way of teaching, she always let me leave many colorful weeds in the garden. As I transitioned from seeing the world through the eyes of a child to the added perspective of my teenage years, I realized the real life lesson of “the flowers and the weeds” played out in the world around me. Even to this day, I cannot understand society’s reason for their destructive attitude. What gives anyone the right to segregate or destroy any member of “the garden” just because they don’t feel they are worthy enough to be on equal standing with the others? This way of appreciating life remains one of the greatest gifts I received from Mom. “We need to continue.” Angela emphasized in a soft but persuasive voice, summoning me back to the present. We arose from our seats on the logs, and once again proceeded down the trail as Angela pointed out the seemingly endless varieties and colors of delicate blossoms that blanketed the forest floor. With her years of experience, she could describe our landscape with so much detail and clarity it almost seemed as if she created it herself. The sheer magnitude and depth of beauty, as only nature could conceive it, revitalized my soul. Leaving the soothing sounds of the twin streams, our guide then led us into a much denser area of old-growth hardwoods and a small clearing where three majestic oak trees formed a semi-circle around a alluring pool of clear, deep-blue water. This rustic, ancient looking pond, about half the size of a basketball court, immediately captured my imagination. The almost perfectly round shape and single row of bowling ball size smooth, white rocks encircling it reminded me of a giant pearl necklace.