Call of the wild

Nature is medicine.  And this weekend, I am about to get a large dose of it!

About a month ago, I spontaneously booked a Memorial Day weekend trip to Wyoming.  It just felt like the right thing to do — even though it didn’t make financial sense at the time.  (It still doesn’t.  But once you hit “purchase,” the deed is done.  That’s why I like to have a glass of wine whenever I make travel purchases, it helps to take the edge off.)

My spirit has been craving the wild intoxication of nature.  And lately, my spirit has been winning these battles of “what’s practical.”  It’s made for an interesting life pilgrimage lately, this surrendering to the spirit.  It’s not that I haven’t been yielding to her all of these years … but only recently has she evolved into a BFF that I am really, truly, honestly getting to know.

When I plunge myself into nature — a virginal hiking path, one that I am setting foot on for the first time, one that is flanked by sturdy mountains, one that is accented by sparkling waterfalls, one that is enveloped in fresh air — I can more easily plug into myself.  It’s akin to a deep meditation on my yoga bolster.  Only, surrounded by so much beauty!  It’s a waking-walking meditation surrounded by Mother Nature.  The energy of these magical settings — i.e. New Mexico’s Tent Rocks, the Grand Canyon, Sedona — has fostered some beautiful realizations, and even more beautiful quiet moments of the mind.

It’s just not as “easy” to do in Chicago.  Sure, there is the Lakefront Path, which I adore, but that sliver of nature amidst the skyscrapers just doesn’t hold a candle to the vistas and trails of New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado … and as I am about to discover, Wyoming.

 

 

 

 

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