In just a few days I will be going out in the wilderness for a four day fast. I will have no company and no shelter.
In the mountains yesterday, I began to relish the idea of being out there on the earth, taking time to watch all the creeping, crawling creatures of the land…no agenda, no timetable, no distractions. I spent a while watching a white-crowned sparrow eating Saskatoon berries (the red, unripe ones); the way the beautiful small bird yanked at the flesh of the berry, crimson dribbles hanging out his beak as he mashed it smaller, enticed me greatly. For a short time, he appeared to be resting, nestled in the thin limbs of the upper reaches of the tree. This just felt like one of many such experiences I could have on my fast.
To do some creative tasks while out on the land - feeling the solitude and fears and joys; writing; sitting in observance of whatever living creatures come my way; meditating on the breath or stars, or an ant colony – these feel like potential luxuries of the quiet time out there. Having done two prior fasts like this one – in the company of the four directions (S, W, N and E) and whatever weather elements accompany me (heat and thunderstorms seem likely this time of year out on that sage scrub/ponderosa mountaintop) – I am not completely nervous. But I am sure there will be moments in which Fear, Sadness, Boredom, Hunger or Loneliness arrive to keep me company. There are reportedly more rattlesnakes up there this year than in prior years; a fellow faster/wilderness guide saw cougars up on that ridge on several occasions in the recent past. Am I a bit anxious? Yes, of course! But my plan is to go out there and open myself to the experience.
The pause from food, other human interactions, and a tent or roofed abode allow me to get to my core. I am not distracted by buying groceries, cooking or cleaning up a meal, by conversations, or cleaning the house.
In our simple tradition, it is common to take very little out with us; a few tarps and rope, cold and wet weather gear, sunscreen and about a gallon of water a day are some of the staples of my time out there. In addition, I will take some creative supplies, writing implements, binoculars, and a sleeping bag. I may decide to load up some other gear, too. But the more I take, the more I am weighted down by material possessions. The idea is to get quiet on the land. As much as I love to read, I will have no books. The idea is to generate material from within, if at all, not to “feed” myself with distractions or preoccupations.
On the first fast I did five years ago, I really did absolutely nothing but take shorter walks day by day as my energy waned and the hunger continued nonstop. Two years ago, I fasted with not a moment of hunger the entire time; I painted everyday and wrote a few words while out there.
I remember fasting with church friends as a teenager; we would go up to a mountain cabin amidst the ponderosa pines of southern California and drink juice and water as we quietly fasted and sought out our God. Now, my spiritual landscape is quite different in terms of the way in which I understand the sacred; I rely on the natural world’s cycles and patterns to inspire and teach me. I see the divine in myself and others, particularly when the interconnection among all beings is within my awareness. It is hard not to imagine myself as separate from, an ego, an “I”; being out on the land reminds me that my breath, my body’s cycles, my spirit is inseparable from all else (human or otherwise).
I re-member that I am not one isolated human body, but a part of the larger body of All That Is. I re-member that I am Nature, just as Nature is me. I re-member my ancestors (direct blood relatives, as well as the ancestral spirits of the land). In so remembering those forgotten parts of myself, I reconnect and become Whole again. I really have no idea what to expect out there this next week. I do know that I hear the call to go out. Even as my emotions waver, my heartbeat quickens, and my mind tries to find ways to rationalize this soulful longing, I gather my raingear and fleece and stuff them into my backpack.
All blog photographs taken by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted.
