It must have been my second or third year at summer camp. Ten or maybe eleven years old. Two night camping trip. While walking towards our first camp site, our counselors took away all our watches. They spoke to us about time and the movement of the sun and moon and how people of the land used to relate to the passing of days. This reflection strikes me as particularly potent considering how few children have the experience of even being unhooked from the many devices that now accompany modern life.
So we threw our watches in a bag. What came next was even weirder. The female counselor, I believe her name was Mandy, pulled out a bag of smooth, small stones. They spoke to us about a walking meditation that was common to native peoples, in which they would put a smooth, small stone in their mouths while walking quietly and mindfully in the woods. We were not to talk. We were to do this until they told us to stop. Arriving at an area with old trees, big boulders and a fire pit, they explained that we were to continue to remain silent, find a place alone in the woods no more than two "see-fars" away and embark on a "solo sit." It was a time to quiet the mind and connect with our surroundings. You could see the looks of disgust on some of the other kids. My eyes were bright and happy.
I found a spot on a big rock and sat comfortably. The outlines of the leaves on the trees began to blur a little bit as I began to see the subtle shimmer of all the living things around me. I felt not only my mind quiet, but my body. I looked down at the patterns in the rock and was transfixed by the speckled grey, white, black, dark green images there. Before I knew what was happening, with soft vision, I could see the outlines of faces, one after the other. The images were moving before my eyes. My head felt like it was ablaze with sunlight, shooting out from every direction. I saw the strong jaw lines and sad eyes of the Cherokee who once lived on the land. I saw sharp arrows and bullets, I saw the rounded white faces of the men who snuck through those very woods, planning their attacks. The faces rapidly appeared and disappeared. Then it was over. The rock did not have a preference of who was there. I felt the sadness of the people; I felt the wisdom of the old ways. I felt surprised by the experience but not shocked. I knew there was more to life. I knew there was magic, and ways of knowing that didn't involve a classroom. I felt the pulsing bliss of being away, being alone with plants and animals, being connected to their perfection. To the perfection of something bigger than my life as an eleven year old. Bigger than parents that fight, or any of that. I was sad when I heard the owl call to gather back. It was time to talk again. It was time to return the stones in our mouths to the creek.
