28 days.
On August 28th we were dropped off in the middle of the desert, not to return to civilization for 28 days.
We were driven down a dark, winding road through the expansive nothingness of Southern Utah on the New Moon.
With no idea where we were going, and not a sliver of moonlight to light our way, we crawled out of the van at the dead end of a long dirt road.
We marched off into the backcountry in the black of the night, uncertain of when or where we would stop.
Our only belongings were a few basic necessities tied up in a 5x5 piece of cotton.
When we abruptly came to a halt, the instructors walked off into the darkness, yelling “Goodnight!” over their shoulder as they disappeared into the void.
As I laid on the cold, bare earth, the jet black sky gave way to the milky way stretching across the entire horizon. Millions of stars littered the sky.
We froze that night.
Shaking profusely, curled up in a ball with no blankets or insulation, I asked myself what the fuck I had gotten myself into.
That was the beginning of a month-long expedition through some of the most ancient, diverse, and unforgiving landscapes in America.
We hiked at a breakneck pace for days on end with no food.
We drank from puddles, ponds, and any water source we could find.
We lived with no light lest the fires we created with sticks and stones.
We took the life of an animal and used every single part of that blessed creature.
We tried fishing with our hands, setting traps for squirrels, mice, and birds.
We crafted stone tools, drinking canisters, debris shelters and everything you need to thrive in the backcountry.
We were left completely on our own on the side of a mountain for nearly a week.
Some days were incredibly hard, getting lost in the endless drainage systems that feed the desert, climbing up the sides of mountains, bushwhacking through such dense brush you couldn’t see your next step, not knowing exactly where we were going or when we would get there.
We never knew what day or time it was.
No idea what tomorrow would bring or what was transpiring in the world at large.
We all struggled with the part of us that “needs” to know in our own way.
But eventually, we learned to thrive in the not-knowingness.
We cultivated true presence.
We celebrated the small wins - a good coal from the bow drill, a fat pile of pine needles to sleep on, finding mint to flavour our water with.
Life became so simple and slow, and profoundly rich in depth and meaning.
The days were full of laughter and connection.
The nights incredibly quiet and still.
We relied on each other, and over the weeks became a motley family of wandering vagabonds.
After 28 days, we found ourselves again under a New Moon and a sky that was as brilliant and beautiful as one I had ever seen.
On our final morning, I arose at dawn to a gorgeous pink and yellow sun rising over the desert canyons.
I sat on a ledge, my hand on a jagged piece of sandstone erupting from the earth, breathing it all in.
I sat there weeping for a long time.
Something significant had shifted in my being.
It wasn’t just the confidence to survive in tough situations.
Or the beautiful places that I got to explore every single day.
There was a part of my soul that was touched - some ancient grief.
A remembering of how my ancestors had lived just like this for millions of years.
We’ve lost something, collectively - a connection that cannot be explained unless it is experienced.
Out there in the timeless… in the cessation of to-dos, and what is next, and where I need to be and what I’ve accomplished, is a core part of our essence.
A fundamental part of our being which has been suppressed, denied, and ignored in favour of a supremely shallow and irrelevant experience of life.
I’m still processing what to do with that - how to be here, how to fit into this nonsensical game that doesn’t really amount to anything.
How to live at the rhythm of nature - so slow, so patient, so present.
How to live each day in the comfort of not knowing.
I don’t have answers.
I only know I must continue to return to Her mystery, letting it touch that corner of my soul that keeps the world so radiant and enlivening.
It is the only thing on this planet that feels real.