Slowly, I follow the meandering of the gently flowing creek, its surface dancing with reflections of the early morning sun, its song soft enough to fill the silence of the dawn. Ahead lies an almost hidden path, inviting me to find solace amongst the protection of its trees. Cedar fronds still moist with morning dew brush gently against my arm. Newly formed webs stretch and break on my journey through. My foot slides down a root hidden deep within the brush, releasing the rich and musty essence found within the forest floor. The tree’s cool shadows gradually surrender to the warmth of a sunlit meadow. A granite boulder near the center beckons me, an invitation to rest. My presence hidden by tall grasses, I lean against the cool stone and lose myself within the pages of my newest favorite book.
With the slight breeze comes a soft whisper, “Kathy, I’m going to count backwards from the count of three. When I reach one, gently bring your awareness back to our surroundings.”
Over forty years have passed since that young therapist and I wove together this short journey. An inner sanctum to withdraw to, safe from the insecurity and anxiety borne of life’s fear and pain. A sanctuary as real to me as is my truth. A creek, a wooded path, a meadow. Only recently have I begun to see the significance of each step.
When I was young, I fled to Little Crick when my father’s mood was reflected by the tempo of his pickup truck as he drove down our graveled lane. In the safety of my haphazard lean-to, I could escape the sounds of distant shouting by losing myself within a book. Or by listening to the creek’s soft melody, while watching flecks of sunlight dance within its flow. A refuge where copperheads seemed the only threat.
A short-cut through old-growth woods laid between the strife of junior high and the uncertainty of home. Just off the path, where the sounds and sight of a nearby road seem to disappear, was the trunk of a fallen fir. A safe place to sit and read until the light became too dim, sheltered and protected by the comfort of the trees.
The fear and turmoil of my early years had left me ill prepared for the emotional pain and struggles I faced as a young adult. Depression and anxiety had blurred the colors of my life to shades of grey; physical pain with no known cause added to my sense of hopelessness, and my world darkened even more. I finally sought the help of therapy when I felt no future could be found.
My perception of life’s difficulties improved as time progressed and the therapeutic sessions ended not long after the creation of my safe retreat. Yet my brief journey held a mystery, a remnant was left unknown. I had known the gentle creek and wooded path as old friends when my young therapist and I began to weave together the fabric of my haven. However, the origin of the meadow continued to remain hidden and only after several years of healing did it become unveiled.
I’ll never forget the flush of awe and familiarity that coursed through me when I first came across the sea of wildflowers and tall grasses—a mirror image of my inner meadow—it even had a boulder near its core. I’d chanced upon it while camping, far from anyplace I’d ever known, during a period in my life when a deep love had begun to flourish and lifelong friendships were being formed. A time of unparalleled happiness and hope. Before the bitter taste of alcohol began its insidious toll.
This sojourn remains unchanged and as clear as at its inception. A gift formed when life seemed futile and full of pain. A walk tailored step-by-step to calm the cascade of anxiety and fear that can appear to never end. A creek, a wooded trail, a meadow. Where throughout the past many years, I can always find my center. Protected and free of fear.
Author: Kathy McKnight
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