Living in a Metaphorical World

This trip is a stream of metaphors for my life

Bellingham, Washington- July 10

Today I moved ever closer to total abandon of plans and maps. I just started to drive. I knew I wanted to end up in Bellingham, but I didn't really know how I would get there. I saw the mountains, I drove toward them and curved north. I got into the mountains (no service) and knew there had to be a hike in there somewhere.

Lake Road sounded promising. After asking a couple on the side of the road, I headed up a dead end road and started walking on a woods road that got steadily narrower as I headed upward. There were dirt bike tire treads going in numerous directions and I followed the one that went up.

Pause. Several people have expressed concern for my safety during this trip, around people and off on my own. So I made a deal that I would call Ariel (or someone) to tell her where I was hiking. Plus she linked our phones so she can track me and my phone via GPS, signal or no signal. And I think about safety as I hike, knowing how devastating it could be for my dear ones if I were hurt or worse.

On this trail I was completely alone. Possibly no one would be up there for days. And there were no trail markers guiding me on or back. So I had to take care. At each junction I put a stick into the ground or an arrow to indicate which way I should take to return.

The woods were lovely, dark and deep. It was another cool day and, though I was sweating with the climb, I stayed comfortable. There was no destination to get to, no top or view, just a walk in the woods up a random 'mountlet' above a beautiful lake, Watcum Lake. I couldn't even tell how high it would take me, so I just went.

It was in the return that the feeling struck me. At each junction, when I'd come on my marker, I felt this wave of gratitude for the safety I had provided for myself: I was taking care of I. In the midst of uncertainty, I had left the breadcrumbs.

I don't want to belabor this point, but it feels worth saying once. If I can create a foundation of support for myself, all alone in the woods, so much is possible. Those sticks were so simple and basic, but so... essential. And the relationship that I felt with that care-full me was as simple and as profound as I could ever say.