The Woods

Today, I returned to the woods. It wasn’t the same woods where I had my last seizure in March, but nonetheless, it was a nice preserve with winding footpaths that overlook small islands just off the coast and nice, expansive views of water stretching outwards to the open ocean. My mother insists on how healthy this expanse can be for the mind. Often, I forget about the healing quality of this until I am standing on the rocky coastline looking out. It was then that I felt calm, and peace was over me.

It felt good to be back in the woods after weeks of fear of entering them. Whenever I would pass the woods where I had my seizure, I would cry. Depending on who was driving, I would ask them to take an alternative route so I didn’t have to see them. During initial treatment, I often walked in them after my long days in the clinic. If not, I spent nearly every “recovery” day before my next round within them. I found solace there, stillness. I found a sort of peace amidst all the madness and uncertainty of my life.

In March, when the seizure struck and I was in my sacred woods, it was a real blow to my emotional state and my overall well-being. It isn’t that I felt the woods betrayed me or triggered my seizure; it was the realization that there isn’t any escape, for lack of a better word. The woods may have been my refuge but I was naive to think nothing could happen or harm me there.

Ever since I was a boy, I’ve loved the woods. There have been only a few places I’ve lived over the years where I didn’t have access or time to access (the) woods. As a young boy, the woods didn’t necessarily mean a haven, as this concept was far beyond my comprehension then, but they did represent (and still do) a place of magic. Then, when I was younger, they were filled with endless adventures as vast as a young boy’s imagination. Now, as an adult, though still playful on many levels, the woods represent more of a holistic and nurturing environment. When I had the seizure in March, both the lingering playfulness and youthful innocence, as well as the “grownup” seeking to be nurtured and held by nature, were infringed upon.  

It was healing to be there. I felt a reconnection and a sort of resurgence of my love for them and the safe feeling they kindle within me. It wasn’t necessarily the young boy who again was filled with innocent wonder that came alive. The grownup craved a sense of normalcy and a reconnection to the simple things in life that can save us from the harshness of it.