Stillness and the Sanctuary of Nature

“A man can be himself only so long as he is alone; and if he does not love solitude, he will not love freedom; for it is only when he is alone that he is really free.”
– Arthur Schopenhauer

I often describe the river as my church because I believe it performs the traditional and fundamental function of a spiritual space: to better prepare us for our time spent interacting with the non-spiritual world. To help us be better to ourselves and those around us as we navigate the pitfalls of surviving modern times. Without the reminders we receive from sacred spaces, it is easier to succumb to the overwhelm of a troubled world. And though I do not engage with traditional churches very frequently, I am saddened by our societal loss of tools that seem vital to the very nature of being human.

Ceremony tops that list. Most of society has become so thirsty for ceremony that we’ve invented truly awful replacements within the void left by our collective detachment from organized religion. Gender reveal parties and unboxing videos. Sixty million kids simultaneously glued to their game consoles, awaiting the drop of the next season of Fortnite.

I strive to make my engagements with the river abundant with the attributes of ceremony. I wear the same clothing, visit the same places, and perform the same sets of prescribed motions to accomplish the same tasks. Cast, catch, and release – my father. Cast, catch, and release – my heaven. Cast, catch, and release – my kingdom. There is melody in the repetition of mantras. Anyone who prays will tell you that. Every time I approach the river, I kneel. I bathe my neck as a blessing. One conscious breath. I stand, thankful for the gifts I am about to receive.

And as I kneel, breathless
Touching water
for the first time
since sun.
The light of the morning
grasping wisps of the river
to make a fog.
An enlightened shroud
to conceal my being
next to you
and your glorious hold
in the moving waters
that carry my waves
to You.

Stillness in nature allows us to worship something outside of ourselves that holds no particular cultural function–notions that evade commodification. In nature, we honor concept and metaphor. We become entangled with an environment that is inherently not us. The place from which we came has transformed into the antidote for what we’ve become. It is a curious and ironic twist in the evolution of our ego-laden universe.

In nature, we may embody the Lakota notion of the “hollow bone.” An even greater openness that allows us access to the sublime. Devoid of the sounds of distraction, we are enlightened by every chirp. In the complications of the tree, we see infinities so unfathomable that we often cease to fathom anything. And it is within this absence that we are completely still and magnificently alone. If we cannot find ourselves in the presence of absence, where is our truest self? On the screen? If we are incapable of relaxation in nature, where then is your truest sanctuary?

Sanctuary is usually considered respite, for eventually, we must leave, but the time I spend in nature has become more than the sanctuary; it is a temple. My pilgrimage within the belly of these hills is not for hunt or folly with trout. I am held here because the speaking rivers tell tales. There is fear and fortune in the voices I long to hear. When I am absent, they are quieted. Our stillness stirs the energy if not the limb– the continual baptism in the middle of the river. Unfocusable eyes confronted by an infinite expanse of valley from atop the ridges of Catskillian blues. For when we linger too long within sanctuaries, we become something else. At face an undesirable, a refugee, the monk on the mountain. What purpose could I possibly serve from the bottom of the sea? Do I offer a parallel glimpse into the perils of too much? The glistening waters serve as my mirror and melody and… screen. If we merely seek reflections of our skill, we miss the point of nature. This “fire I made” is not the ideal. This topped mountain, these hand-hewn beams. My cabin…my honor? Mere reflections. When was the last time you just stood out in the rain? Nature’s sanctuary is, in fact, best embodied as a counterpart to the everyday. Outdoor recreation is but a stepping stone towards a beneficial worship of nature. Neither paganism nor physiolatry is requisite here, but if we are drawn to nature for the rewards of the summit or the big trout, should we not strive for the satisfactions of less tangible aspects of our time outside?

Nature, like the digital world, is always open. Always available, but listening as loudly as it speaks. Seek its council. Split wood and turn rocks if you need to, but physical interactions aren’t required to form a deeper understanding of ourselves in the face of the infinite. I speak of river gazing as a necessary component of the well-rounded angler: to stand within or at the threshold of the church, feeling small, touching the infinite. Get hollow. Herein lies the healing power of Mother Earth. The moment the fish swims away. The last step up or off the hill. The exhilaration of our victories is as fleeting as the day. Stillness in nature gives birth to one of the only pure values in this world: the creative idea. Cherish nature’s lessons and return to the world better prepared to navigate it with grace.

In the river blew
an infinite realm and fire
I am sanctified

Todd Spire is a contributing author and lives in the Hudson Valley, NY. To learn more about him, read his interview HERE.
Photos courtesy of Todd Spire @toddspire