This weekend I went camping with strangers.
Strangers that soon became friends.
We were an odd bunch, really.
All from different walks of life with different stories, different opinions.
Different Attachments, Detachments.
Accents, Travel Experiences.
Reasons for moving to Nashville.
Reasons for coming on the trip.
Some were simply bored and needed an easy getaway. Some do this nearly every weekend. Others told stories of their recent ex: husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends. And they just needed some fresh company. Fresh stories. Fresh faces.
But we all had some sort of deep appreciation for nature- being in it, a part of it, walking under it, through it. We spent our weekend treading on tree roots, our pulse pressing into theirs. Talking about bears but thankfully not seeing any. Talking about spiders and seeing plenty.
We jumped across the creek on rocks bigger than our beds at home, all in hopes of standing underneath a considerably enormous and unruly waterfall. Many of us did and we spent every second laughing like children. Eyes wide and mouths open, as the mist fell on our hair and clothes like pebbles.
Sometimes that’s what life is to me- just hiking to the waterfall. Hiking to that unbearable source of life, that wild taste of tangible beauty, where we simply let the sound of the falls become the beat of our heart. Her mist becomes our breath. And her playful spirit gains every ounce of our attention.
And all we can do is let our gaze exceed our thoughts as we throw our heads and arms up to this incredible source of wonder.
And somehow we feel protected, loved, cared for. Somehow we feel more like ourselves than we have ever known. Our real, exposed, naked selves.