Wild by Nature

Photo by Mr. Blue

The creative is the place where no one else has ever been. You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover will be yourself.

Alan Alda (1936 - )

The day couldn’t have started any worse, after months of looking forward to a couple of days hiking the wilderness of the pacific coast hoping to indulge in some photography, I awake in my Monterey hotel to a driving rainy grey day. In my haste to leave town I forgot to pack any rain gear which was an inexcusable oversight. To my amazement Cannery Row in Monterey which is buried most of the time in mist, doesn’t sell rain gear. I can buy tee shirts and sweatshirt in sufficient quantity to cloth Los Angeles, but nothing to repel moisture, not even an umbrella. Knowing that it is common for the coast to be shrouded in fog and drizzle in the morning only to see the sun appear in the afternoon, I decide to wait it out and visit the Mission in Carmel, a beautiful old stucco Spanish mission surrounded by formal garden in full bloom. The setting was one of the best I have seen for photography with the worn and weathered ochre walls serving as a backdrop to the abundance of blooms in the surrounding gardens. Everything was glistening with the rain revealing the deep subtle colors of the materials, when the impossible happens, the clouds part spilling a soft angelic light across the mission, as if god was rewarding my decision to visit the mission. I reach down to pick up my camera and hold it against my eye while bringing the image into focus, an image which could be a postcard. As I slowly trip the shutter, the viewfinder flashes a warning without producing the anticipated mechanical sound.

It takes me a few seconds to process the problem, when the world crashes down around me. The very expensive and hard to locate camera battery has run out of power. I can’t belief it knowing I took the time to recharge both batteries the night before. All of a sudden I recall needing to plug my computer into the wall because the maid turned off the power cord attachment. The stupid bitch turned off my battery recharger and in the process drained both batteries of all power. I am crushed after traveling a couple thousand miles to be here at this moment with the perfect light and the perfect subject. Stunned I am completely without direction, do I head back to the hotel and wait a couple of hours to recharge the batteries, or do I blow off the reason I came and just wander the trails imagining what the scene would look like in a view finder? Having spent more than one trip trying to find a camera store, of which everyone has been obliterated by internet purchases, I abandon the idea of spending all day looking for another battery which is also likely not charged. I can’t recall being so disappointed and distraught, without knowing what to do next. Sitting down facing the mission steeple bathed in soft light I feel that this all seems like a cruel joke or a divine test that I’m supposed to learn something profound from, but all I feel is anger and frustration. Mindlessly I just give up and point the car south on the pacific coast highway toward Big Sur with the windshield wipers slapping away.

To punish myself for being so unprepared I pull into Point Lobos State Park and set out on the Cypress Grove trail with only a black hooded sweatshirt to protect me from the weather. Within a few hundred steps I discover the spectacular scenery which surrounds me. Undistracted with a camera or any other objective my senses are heighted by the elements. Rounding the point the entire rocky coast of the Pacific Ocean is revealed as the wind howls. The small wire guides preventing you from traversing the rocky wet slopes are shrieking as I fight the headwind. Bracing my body sea salt fills every breath which reminds me once again of my childhood along the Atlantic shores. The earth shakes as the waves pound the massive bedrock with a furious unrelenting determination just as determined is the granite to withstand the endless assault. Sporadic cypress trees yield to the power of the sea, seeking cover from the attack in the deep fissures of cliff face. Twisted and bent the limbs are worn grey covered on the seaward side with thick layers of brilliant colored mosses. The thrashing boughs release the scent of cedar into the swirling air, as I round the point the rain feels like bee strings on my exposed face. The footing is uncertain with gathering rivulets of water winding across the trail. The raw power and wildness of the landscape is humbling.

A windswept clearing opens before me, revealing a large rocky island sitting in a boiling sea of blue white fury. I can see the a rugged trail that leads to an open point where a large colony of sea lions have taken shelter, as their deep baritone bellows punctuate the rustling sound of the wet sage. Winds whips the sage and dwarf shrubs releasing a pungent spicy aromatic perfume of earth. Tears fill my eyes in self defense when I look forward at the open ocean staring into the transparent onslaught, as I am freed in this wonderful place devoid of humanity. Subtle calls of gulls drift on the wind as a spray of sea salt mix in the hazy mist being lifted from the crashing waves. Reaching the battlefield where land and sea meet a reverence of the power of nature overtakes me. Standing in silence I trace the range of blues from the waves mixing with the white foam then spilling over the black rocks creating thousands of ever changing tones in this monochromatic paradise. Slowly the energy required to hold my position unprotected on this rocky promontory begins to erode the distress of how the day began, no longer trying to consider what my options are, I allow the wind to rip the tension from me. I realize this is exactly why I’m come to this place to be humbled in its presence, to be a child before an omnipresent master. The rain has done me a favor, because I have the entire coast to myself, thousands of acres, mile after mile, I need not share any of this with a single person in the world, it is mine alone to behold.

The ruggedness of the terrain, the fury of the weather, the impenetrable cliffs make me struggle with each step, making me work to discover the secrets of the rugged coast. I needed the physicality of this trip to break down the idleness of my mind and body. Breathing hard I press on over the next ridge to discovery a bay more spectacular than the last, each revealing a unique profusion of wildflowers painted on the hilltops slightly out of reach of the beckoning waves. China Cove is a turquoise gem as blue as any Caribbean island with white pure white sand in an alcove hundreds of feet below the cliffs. Its shores are covered with seals and sea lions resting motionless sheltered in this bay as if on a European vaction. I open my mind to every sensation of smell, touch and sight to fully embrace the present, wanting to absorb the world in real time, not aware of a past or future, but to engage the moment. The sea is part of me and I am part of the sea indistinguishable from a wave, or the scent of sage, or the cry of the wind. Grounded I cannot conceive my own existence outside of the realm of nature, I am not more or less than a rock on the shore, or a wildflower clinging to the cliff, or a drop of foam swirling on the surging tide. I am the cycle of life which is without dimension in a place which is enduring and timeless, a place which has no concern for me, a place which has remained unchanged for centuries. The only awareness of myself are the Muscles in my legs that are burning as I continue climbing higher and higher into the cypress forest clocked is fog and dew, focused on pushing forward without direction, getting lost while being found. Sweat streaming down my chest is immediately chilled by the reoccurring blast of ocean air in each exposed gap along the sheltered trail. Resting to catch my breath I turn around to descend back to where I began.

During the day while driving south along the coast I frequently pull off the highway to inject myself back into the steeply dissected ravines and valleys snaking to the pacific. Each stop is a discovery more amazing than the last. A small beach access posting between two long curves implore me to escape the confines of the vehicle. Not more than four steps from the car I drop into a rolling field of wildflowers dappled with blues, whites, yellows and oranges as all vestiges of man erode. The highway disappears as a small trail circles toward a clef in the landscape. Suddenly a small rocky stream appears with crystal clear water bubbling over smooth worn black granite cobblestones. For the first I realize that Calla Lilies are native to the lowlands here as large white drifts buffer and caress the stream’s edges. A more beautiful scene could not be imagined as I slow my pace to once again become a child of wonder, allowing the cold water to lure me deeper into the ravine.

After spending an unmeasured amount of time examining each pristine white lily the roar of the ocean begs me to continue toward the opening in the cliffs sheltering me. Never in my entire life of exploring seashores have I seen an untouched wild stream exit to the roaring ocean. I am overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the clear water emerging from the stone riverbed then gently rolling across the white sand into the waves. Like a child I walk around the flowing waters examining them from each and every perspective, as if I was unable to understand its secret mystery. Almost my accident I look up to view a long stretch of shoreline beach only about 150 feet wide before it is overshadowed by sandstone cliff reaching into the sky, an endless perspective of sand receding to infinity. The far reaches of the shore are masked in a soft pearl mist generated by the pounding surf as it is pushed up the headlands. I turn around only to see another endless shore different in many ways but just as spectacular as the last. Whatever I was seeking, was discovered in this apex of my journey, this I what I was yearning for, the nourishment I was starving for washes my soul in abundance. There is no place to find, there is no need to look further absolute perfection is found in the wind and the rain as I plant myself firmly on the sand next to the stream. My life could end without disappointment at this moment, I could give myself to the sea and be satisfied knowing that this confluence of earth and sea exists and I have touched it, knowing that this place will remain unchanged for centuries where my spirit can return to my heart’s desire. Sitting motionless in the sand with the waves dancing for me I am content, the miles of climbing and hiking have tortured my body extracting a measure of surrender. I can see the arc of the chasm before me and I understand that this is truly living a life of extraordinary purpose. I have not capitulated to the droning grind of routine, but have ceased the opportunity to live for a moment which so few people can say they have experienced alone on a remote wilderness shoreline next to a pure mountain stream pouring into the ocean as the rain strings my face.

Exhausted, soaked I am torn between experiencing the ray few rays of daylight and the fear of hiking back in a wilderness in the dark. Lingering far too long the path darkens to grey soft shadows with indistinct edges as the mist consumes the light as a lover yields to desire. Realizing that only instinct will provide guidance in retracing a path to civilization, I detach my soul from the pounding surf, turning my back on the origin of dreams, but not without a mournful glance toward the last fading strip of orange light that holds the sea and sky from its union. At that moment I know that I shall capture every extra moment to return to these stolen seconds of bliss that exist in every landscape on every hill, shore, forest, desert, prairie, mountain and in doing so the arc of the chasm will close.

“The Promised Land always lies on the other side of a Wilderness.”

Havelock Ellis (1859-1939)

Arc of the Chasm

“We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.“

T. S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)

One grey overcast morning you wake up discovering the existence of a wide chasm that you are sailing across. The distance between the two points of reference is immense striking insecurity in your soul that you are floating high above the rocks without a way to land on either shore comfortably. On one side of the chasm is the life you have created with all of its obligations, responsibilities and familiarities holding you swaddled in the security of a warm blanket? On the other side is the extent of your dreams, aspirations and desires for which you planned to become, seemingly taunting you for your lack of accomplishment. Disillusionment fills thoughts while attempting to understand how the distance between the two became so great. When did the two lives diverge? Why am I unable to project the arc of my life in such a fashion to be closer to the later instead of the former? Is it a common condition of humanity to settle for compliancy and underachievement, or is it a cruel conspiracy of existence that we always craft our dreams into unachievable expectations? Daily distractions are the soma that numbs personal thoughts leading to critical evaluation while we toil away at small insignificant tasks unable to recognize that they have little meaning in the big scheme.

Having spent endless hours staring at the blank white wall of a hospital room in silence provides a perspective of internal reflection few will experience. The process demonstrates the fragility of life that tends to get ignored in the pursuit of racing the clock, but at the same time it reveals the meaningless activities we surround ourselves in becoming a slave to our possessions and constructs of routine. Do not assume in the smallest regard that I am ungrateful for the miracles of recovery that I have been blessed with. I live a sacred life that few can dispute having seen how arbitrarily life can be extinguished or restored between heartbeats. This experience clearly draws into focus how little time exists to accomplish our dreams, while openly ridiculing us at proceeding at a pace that will leave so many aspirations and experiences unfulfilled. I have been given the wisdom to have a perspective of life that is unique, seeing through all the trials and tribulations as if they are rain falling from the sky, destine to be shed without concern and like a raindrop they are transparent unable to conceal their relationship with the streams and rivers that flow endlessly to the sea. Clarify has been the gift I have been given though the intensely personal crisis I have lived twice. Clarify to see what is important and what is not, what is meaningful and what is obtuse, what a distraction is and what brings us closer to achieving a dream.

Clarify does not however allow us to be unencumbered by the morass of our routine and rituals, it just points out the contradictions in our life, begging the obvious question why do I allow myself to be who I’ve become instead of who I wish to be? This is the dilemma of the chasm. We must abandon the comfort of what we know and have sufficient faith to clear the chasm in order to achieve what we desire. I aspire to live an extraordinary life of purpose that makes a difference. With my new clarify of perspective I am angry and increasing bitter at how little progress I continually made toward this goal. In part our new economy is driven by fear and personal interests which diminish the concept of added value of which I have structured my entire business. I am discovering that my old world values of providing added value to relationships is meaningless in this new economy and as a result my ability to make a difference is increasingly futile. The origin of my anger is at the personal sacrifices and investments I have made in people and institutions that are not recognized nor appreciated. At what point is it time to abandon everything I know and go rogue, severing the burden of social responsibility in pursuit of personal exploration and achievement. Be assured that the journey would be much less tedious than trying to drag the entire world along with me. Many days it seems that abandon of social responsibility would never be noticed by the world in general or more incredibility by those closest to me, my staff and collogues for they are so preoccupied in maintaining the routine that they are unable to develop the situational awareness to understand the investment required to jointly succeed in a world that has abandon reason. I find the resentment and angry growing when I am the one sacrificing everything I have saved over a lifetime, investing on the behalf of others in what provides so little equity and so little recognition.

Many have responded to me that the primary difference is that I own the company and I find that line of reasoning appalling. My motivation is not in the title, it is not in the authority, it is not in the power of control, it resides in the opportunity to lead an extraordinary life of purpose. Ownership does not dictate the level of passion one brings to an endeavor; ownership does not instill a commitment to excellence, just because you are an owner does not change anything other than the degree of risk you are will to engage in to live a life of purpose. Ownership is only a vehicle to funnel the commitment that already exists within. The ownership issue is a convenient excuse not to make the investment, to accept mediocrity in execution, to explain the gap between the leadership and the contented. I don’t buy it, in every action we consciously make the decision to succeed or fail by the level of investment we make.

Here I remain, disappointed and angry at myself for not achieving an extraordinary life under the burden of trying to accomplish it within the social context. The time is quickly approaching where I need to decide to accelerate obtainment of my aspirations or to diminish my dreams so I can sit on the edge of whom I’ve become and who surrounds me, fooling myself into believing that being more is unimportant. It is within this context of indecision and doubt that I embark on a small diversion into exploration of the chasm which divides me. Call it a retreat, a sabbatical, a discovery, running away, or whatever you want, but I am on my way to get lose in the wilderness of Big Sur at the edge of the Pacific.

Driven back to the source of my strength I seek the majestic power of the ocean when it meets the earth. I need to be lost in the senses of wind, fog and salt as my muscle burn scaling the isolated bluffs and craggy outcrops of vernal pools and tidal basins. I need to be immersed in the solitude of nature’s timeless wisdom, in the scent of redwoods that have remain unchanged for centuries, in the new spring wildflowers which nod on the sodden hills for I have been lost for so long. I find myself eager to disappear if only for a few days, to where I can feel the cold sand on my skin, where the sharp thorns of sage will punish my skin for its absence, where I can lead an extraordinary life devoid of mediocre execution, devoid of dying embers of social compliancy.

Within this wilderness I shall explore the chasm, scaling its walls of disappointment, fording its rivers of hopelessness, examining in detail the paths and routes which can carry one back to the summit. There is no simple tourist map that can point out the trail, for the chasm can only be revealed and understoodd from within its dark shadows as my breath deepens in anticipation of the exploration. It is within the canyon that I hope to begin the dialogue of healing the divide. My pace increases knowing that the end of my life is gaining ground on me, beginning to handicap my ability to physically and mentally achieve all that I dream. Within an hour I will be in a rental car clearing the expansive fields of garlic beginning to climb the ridges protecting the Pacific from the distractions of the rest of the world. The sun will be setting as the long soft shadows grow from the scattered oaks on the rolling hills. The announcement to fasten our seatbelt blares overhead as I look at the clouds and see a long forgotten smile reflecting in the glass window of the plane. I am content in the fact that I am changing the arc, I am beginning to turn the tide as the journey begins with this first step.

“In human life, art may arise from almost any activity, and once it does so, it is launched on a long road of exploration, invention, freedom to the limits of extravagance, interference to the point of frustration, finally discipline, controlling constant change and growth. “

Susanne Langer (1895 - 1985)