A beautiful secluded lake sits off the beaten path, nestled in the Chuckanut Mountains. It’s a local favorite, a moderate 6-mile round trip trail marked by switchbacks and enormous stumps of long dead trees covered in moss. The surrounding area of the lake is a geologist’s dream, with steep multifaceted cliff faces, and an unpredictable terrain; the lake itself is an angler’s oasis where trout lurk just beneath the waters calm surface.
On a semi-cloudy, unremarkable Sunday, we decided to hike up to Fragrance Lake. A liminal journey that mirrored my own current grapple with my spirituality. We weren’t seeking anything deeply, or in pursuit of any goal beyond arrival to the lake.
We started off simply knowing that we couldn’t spend another dreary Sunday watching life stand still.
Over the COVID 19 pandemic and subsequent quarantine. I’ve taken the ample down time at home to really hone in on my personal spiritual practice through developed rituals, divination, and awareness. I’ve long since eschewed my religious Christian spirituality, it was a tight vice that never fit or felt real to me. But as a vestige of my upbringing and family relationships, I’ve found it challenging to release. Though, I am entirely conscious of the notion that I need to let go completely before I can grasp my fledgling eco-based spiritualism.
I ran my hands over the smooth under bark of a birch tree, a few steps from the trail. It had been peeled of its outer layer from the ground up, about 15 feet. What remained was a pale, striated interior, like polished marble. I took a breath and sent gratitude to the tree, for existing, for being in this space where I could pass by and see it. The 2 mile climb had exhausted me and seeing this tree gave me a natural pause and breath.
We continued on, and finally arrived.
The lake was glassy and unbroken, save a happy Labrador wading in to fetch his stick, taking his time to paddle through the water calmly. His owner was unseen in the treelined edge of the lake. The lushness offered invisibility and anonymity, and we perched on ancient rocks, levelled out by decades of gentle nudging by the water. This perfect resting place had taken an eon to be. Why did I expect my own evolution to materialize quickly?
We sipped some lemon water, nibbled at a tart green apple and walked on.
A 75 foot tree had recently fallen and taken out a small brook bridge, so we waded through the mud along side it to continue along the trail. I stopped and ran my hands along the thick deep green moss covering the bark, entwining my hands into its jade tangles. It felt cool, wet and alive. Further up, where the tree had weakened and splintered, were bright orange rings of outer layers, protecting the white rings that belied the trees old age.
I knelt by the tree, sharing its energy. This pandemic has weakened and splintered me in areas too. I’ve been laid low by the lack of connection and outside inspiration, unable to write, to produce anything substantive. And in the time/space I’ve had to build my own practice, I’ve also succumbed to the vacuum of movement- forgetting my yoga, forgetting at times, to drop my shoulders and breathe.
This is the stillness that begets more stillness. In front of me the tree lay on the ground, uprooted and fallen, yet still alive and providing sustenance for its co-organisms. I thanked the tree for its life and we rejoined our hike, looping back towards the car. I was no closer to my destination, but more replete in the journey.
cirque de la nuit 