An essential journey occurred three years ago when I set out on a personal pilgrimage. I wanted to re-travel the time line of the past few years and locate the point where I had allowed the influence of others to determine my own concept of self. "Self" is not necessarily complex or intricate, but it does define the character of a person and how he or she wants to be viewed. In my own rush to "fit in" at college I had disregarded what I needed and complacently accepted the definitions of others. I expended my energy trying to model myself according to the contemplation of my peers, all the while ignoring principles which I felt were inherent to my survival. Once the missing feeling of singularity is discovered, an individual must set out upon a journey and reconstruct the notions of self and identity. Understanding my own needs, I decided to embark on a solo expedition into the woods of Maine.
The solo was an opportunity to disassociate myself from everything that I considered comfortable and safe. For two nights the only person I encountered was myself.
After several days of paddling, my guide and I neared the island where I would be soloing. I felt apprehensive about the possibility of surviving on my own. The immense tree line intimidated me, while the jutting rocks unsettled my confidence. I had only been camping once or twice and even then it was with all the comforts of modern camping gear. Was I ready for this?
As my guide paddled away I looked down at my feet and surveyed the few preparations which I had brought. I had a sleeping bag; a tarp; a yard of string; two bags of food, which were little more than fruits, nuts, and cheese; two canteens of warm water; and the clothes on my back, which I had layered several deep. Before I would even attempt to sort through the real reasons why I had come on this trip I decided to set camp.
As I looked about me, I saw that there was not one smooth area within a hundred yards. Because I had to be within whistling distance of my guide, in case of an emergency, I could not wander off. The first place I looked was the rocky stretch of beach. As I walked along looking for a small cave or shelter I noticed dozens of minuscule creatures. These were not companions or friendly wild animals but small biting sand fleas. Now I knew that no matter how much I wanted to assimilate myself with nature there was a limit to my experience. I just couldn't envision myself happily brushing off sand fleas all night so I decided to look up in the patch of evergreens that sheltered the beach. After trudging through soggy moss and swampish soil I found two evergreens that stood alone on a small cliff. I strung up my tarp to try and create the most comfortable shelter possible. More importantly, I wanted to erect a center, a point of solitude.
It was nearing mid-afternoon and I could hear the distant rumbling of rain. The storm clouds were approaching rapidly over Moosehead Lake and the cold chill of a violent wind began circling my camp. While I sat under my tarp, attempting to ignore the nearing storm, I remembered a story that my guide had told me.
In Indian culture it is customary for a young boy who has set off on a journey to protect himself with a Medicine Wheel. The wheel is fashioned out of the four directions of the wind: North, East, South, and West. When the young boy sets up his camp, he looks around the natural terrain and locates four objects which symbolize elements of strength and safety in his own life. He then places these objects around his camp so that when he sleeps the spirits of his protectors watch through the objects he has chosen. I decided that I too would allay my fears through the traditions of the Amerindians.
I managed to occupy much of the daylight hour by searching for these intimate objects. I poked my walking stick among the brush and under the seaweed hoping to discover symbols of my life. The first object I found was a small salmon colored shell that once belonged to a hermit crab or snail. The beauty of the perfectly molded shell personified the safety of a sanctuary or home. Although the shell was discarded by its former owner it would always remain open to shelter a needy visitor. I wrapped the shell carefully into a bandanna and continued my search.
It did not take long for me to discover two more representations of my own life. A broken and weathered feather lay precariously next to a beautiful rounded stone. These objects beckoned me to understand their history and appropriate their strength.
The feather once belonged to a bird who used the soft threads to soar above the terrain and observe all. I felt that it typified my own need to lift myself up and look down upon life from the limitless blue sky. It seemed to me that the owner of this feather had the best of both worlds; one moment it could sit among those who walked on land, and the next it could leave it all behind for the rush of the wind and the freedom of flight. The rock did not have the lightness of the feather, but it had an insurmountable strength that had defied the stormy seasons and endless abuse of corrosion. As I rubbed the smooth stone between my palms, I was fascinated that there was a core to this rock that was a critical center of life. Like a pearl it consisted of layers that protected its vulnerable center. Perhaps what I needed was the same impenetrable shell to protect my self. Analogous to the rock there was beauty in my shell, but underneath there was a true pulse of life, a center, a core of my being. With a growing excitement I wrapped up the two objects as if they were the sustenance of life and continued the hunt.
I carefully ascended into the thick wall of evergreens to look for the final object. The slants of light that penetrated the thick woods illuminated small patches of ground creating a kaleidoscope of images and color. In one area no larger than a few feet a small crop of wildflowers bloomed. Among the ferns and flowers blossomed a small Violet and yellow buttercup. I tenderly uprooted the small flowers and carried them out into the open light. The flowers simply embraced me with their beauty. Their precious leaves evoked the memories of those in my life who protected me so that I too could grow. I now had a complete Medicine Wheel. Each object signified elements of survival. They personified a validity of my life and somehow in their presence I remembered the true reason for why I had embarked on this personal catharsis.
I arranged the items in the true Amerindian form around my shelter with thought and affirmation that the spirits of my protectors would watch through my symbols of life and protect me. As evening approached, I decided that I would find peace in sleep. As I layered the remainder of my clothes and tucked the side flaps of the tarp under my sleeping bag, I could hear the droplets of rain begin to fall.
It was approximately seven-thirty in the evening when I closed my eyes that first night and two in the morning when I was awakened. Something had crashed through my camp and tripped over my legs. When I first felt my legs move with a jolt I sat motionless almost in a half dream, but as the sounds of the underbrush shook and gave-way I knew that I had lain in the path of nature. Slowly my labored breath overtook the distancing sounds of movement. After a few minutes of utter panic and fear I lifted my legs towards my chest and fell back to sleep--a small folded presence in nature.
When I awoke early the next morning at six, I vaguely remembered what had occurred the night before. The best thing to do was avoid all theories and concentrate on the long day that lay ahead. I tidied my camp and took a small bag of food out to a point on the early morning waters of the lake. To this point I had eaten very little because I had been told that if you are attempting to meditate, which I had decided I would try, food can form a wall between the full realization of body and mind. Our bodies, I was told, are constantly digesting and when you eat your body is in motion and unable to rest. My hope was to slow my metabolism enough so that I wouldn't spend time focusing on my hunger.
After I ate, I sat on the rocky beach, my face uplifted towards the warmth of the sun. I spread my clothes out underneath me and began my journey. I sat there hour upon hour thinking of nothing but mesmerized by the fact that I finally had me all to myself.
I can't say that I settled a lot while I sat on the beach. Perhaps for the first time in many years I had the one thing that I truly needed and that was the freedom of nothing. There were no demons to second-guess me and no forces trying to lead me. I had myself and I felt in control.
That night I slept without fear. My eyes closed with a confidence that I had survived in an unknown surrounding and somehow I had become part of it. I welcomed the crash of an animal over my tent or the presence of the sand fleas. I journeyed into their environment a foreigner, and even in my most vulnerable stages of sleep, I had become an accepted presence. While on my solo I wrote a letter to myself. In the letter I revealed what I had learned and what it meant to realize my own strength and will in those few days of solitude. I gave the letter to my guide and asked him to send it to me in a year.
I remember the day the letter came. At first I did not recognize the faded words on the envelope, but as soon as I glanced at the return address I knew that they were my own. I once again sought solitude. In a small corner of my family's flower garden I opened the letter and began reading. The first words I read were "remember the Medicine Wheel."