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    During another overnight work shift, I ventured to the northwest corner of Georgia to visit Cloudland Canyon State Park. Not far from Chattanooga, Tennessee, Cloudland is an impressive canyon with many miles of hiking trails.
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    With Daylight Saving Time having just ended the day before, I was able to take advantage of the new, earlier, 5:30pm sunset and still make the 2-hour drive home to Atlanta before my overnight shift started. I arrived at the park’s visitor center shortly before sunset and was pleasantly surprised by how short the walk was from the parking lot to the canyon’s main overlook.

The expansive view to the northeast would’ve been even more impressive for sunrise

    The expansive view to the northeast would’ve been even more impressive for sunrise, with the canyon walls funneling one’s gaze along the valley, toward the open, rolling hills of Tennessee.

    Nevertheless, the approaching dusk illuminated the peak fall foliage colors in a beautiful blaze of yellows and reds. The heavily forested canyon carves its way from west to east across the vistas afforded by a series of overlooks before turning toward the north as the steep, rocky, canyon walls erode into the surrounding hills.
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    The West Rim Loop Trail is a very easy hike, offering multiple vantage points to take in the park’s natural beauty. For those seeking more adventure, the trails into the canyon floor offer more challenging hikes leading to multiple waterfalls.

The West Rim Loop Trail is a very easy hike, offering multiple vantage points to take in the park’s natural beauty.

    But, it was nearly impossible to tear myself away from the canyon’s rim. I was transfixed by the vibrancy of a sole tree whose leaves had turned a rich, deep, red. It was surrounded by faded yellow and burnt orange trees, making it stand out all the more.

    Gazing at that tree, I felt the stress and pressures of modern life, the long drive home, and my upcoming work shift dissolve into triviality. The intensity of natural life – even in the process of dying, as this tree’s beautiful red leaves were – was mesmerizing, as the entire forest began swaying in a gentle autumn breeze.

The intensity of natural life – even in the process of dying, as this tree’s beautiful red leaves were – was mesmerizing

     Unfortunately, my timing to meditate fully and also visit the waterfalls was a bit off, and I was rapidly losing daylight as I descended into the canyon. I made the difficult decision to stop and turn around halfway down the trail toward the first waterfall and promised myself I’d return with more time to spare in order to further explore.

“As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease.”
Genesis 8:22

Keller and I took a road trip up to North Georgia for another hiking adventure one morning in early spring. We were visiting Helton Creek Falls in Blairesville, near Dahlonega and Blood Mountain.
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The weather had just started cooperating after a few weeks of vacillating between 70 and 50 degrees. Today was closer to 80 in the city and around 75 in the mountains. With the sun shining brightly, we eagerly exited the car after navigating miles of hairpin, cliffside roadways plus 2 more miles of a single-lane, gravel road, leading to the trailhead parking lot.
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           The hike itself to the falls is extremely short. You can see and hear the water driving into the parking lot, making it a great choice for those who like instant gratification. The elevation change and uneven terrain along the trail are only mildly challenging, but there are plenty of slippery rocks to avoid, as you get up close and personal at the base of the falls.

The hike itself to the falls is extremely short. You can see and hear the water driving into the parking lot.

           A dozen or so wooden stairs descend from the trail to the creek and offer perfect views of the lower portion of Helton Creek Falls. Being at water level allowed Keller to drink deeply as I soaked in the peaceful setting down here below the trail.
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           I was surprised at the amount of other visitors for a Tuesday, and had been hoping for a repeat of some of my more secluded mid-week hikes to other destinations, but today’s weather and Helton Creek’s easy accessibility were too attractive for fellow revelers of nature to deny. Even so, no more than 25 other folks passed by Keller and me in either direction of this out-and-back, quarter-mile hike.
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           I spent my time amongst three different vantage points on the adventure: the lower falls’ pool, an observation deck atop the lower falls, and the pool of the upper falls beyond the observation deck. I had no idea there’d be a pair of waterfalls on this trip, and both are spectacular. The upper falls are bigger and there’s plenty of space to wade or swim in the pool.

Today’s weather and Helton Creek’s easy accessibility were too attractive for fellow revelers of nature to deny

           Keller andI carefully surveyed the scene and crossed about 15 feet of Helton Creek over downed tree logs to reach the shallower portions of the waterfall’s pool where we could stand on rocky creek bed, or easily hop from rock to rock in deeper spots. To be clear, this approach route to the upper falls is not mandatory, as the observation deck offers a fantastic view of the upper falls and its pool. But, for those daring to seek out the base of the larger waterfall, some tricky maneuvering may be required to stay dry.
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           Keller and I also felt bold enough to scramble up the side of the lower falls’ relatively flat, stony border. A couple of pulse-quickening foot slides on the way up ensured we took extra care and maintained comically low stances once we turned around to descend the falls.
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           Before we left, grateful for the adventure and lack of injury, we met a family of four whose two young girls wanted to pet Keller. He excitedly obliged and when the mom started snapping pictures of her kids, I offered to take a photo of all four of them.

I had no idea there’d be a pair of waterfalls on this trip, and both are spectacular. The upper falls are bigger and there’s plenty of space to wade or swim in the pool.

           Only after the photo, did I notice the dad’s folding, white cane, as his wife took his hand and began guiding him to the steps leading back up to the trail.
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           I was struck by an admiration for the man’s ability to negotiate the uneven terrain –an admiration that eventually deepened into awe. Not for his agility despite being blind, impressive though it was, but for the dedication of this man to enjoy the outdoors with his family and for the genuine delight that clearly radiated from the father.
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When I considered how much of the pleasure I get from outdoor adventures comes in the form of sight, like summit vistas and scenic overlooks, I realized that there’s another, subtler type of pleasure hidden from view. It exists in the tactile sensations of your foot on the trail. It exists in the symphony of the elements. It exists in the smell of air, unpolluted by the city grind.

I’ve always noticed these non-visual pleasures and meditating in nature has only heightened them for me.But encountering this dedicated, nimble, happy blind man and considering how his non-sight senses must be processing an overwhelming amount of stimuli made me ponder just how much my own sight might be limiting what I hear, smell, and feel while hiking.
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Being true in hiking, it’s not much different in life, either. Our big picture vision can easily blind us to everything else happening in the world. It’s a good idea to check in with your other senses in any of life’s pursuits. That means not just blindly following a game plan based only on logic, the heart’s passion, or gut instinct. Sure, we need to check in with all these different senses to make sure they’re inharmony. But we should also check with family and loved ones for their feedback and even test our worldviews outside our comfort zone, amongst strangers and adherents of different outlooks.

That’s the only way we can really live without blinders to the assumptions we all must make while navigating this life.

"Do all that you can to live in peace with everyone."
Romans 12:18

    Last week I took a day trip up to Whitewater Falls near the N.C./S.C. border in a town called, Cashiers. I wanted to start checking off more items from my hiking bucket list, so I decided to take advantage of all the beautiful weather in mid-September.
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     It was a two and a half hour drive and I took Keller along for the adventure. The parking lot was a short, half-mile walk from an impressive overlook, providing a distant but great view of Upper Whitewater Falls. It has several cascades and multiple streams stretching across a wide section of cliff. It’s the tallest waterfall east of the Rockies but the hike to see both Upper and Lower sections is a grueling 8-mile loop, which I had far too little daylight to attempt.

    Lower Whitewater Falls is supposedly just as grand as the 400+ foot Upper Whitewater Falls; I’m already planning a return trip at least for the Lower section and perhaps to snag both in one trip.

It’s the tallest waterfall east of the Rockies but the hike to see both Upper and Lower sections is a grueling, 8-mile loop

Steep, wooden planks sufficed as “stairs” with no railing and soon vanished altogether, absorbed into the earthen path and steep cliff wall

    A little ways down some stairs, there’s another viewing platform with a more direct sightline of the falls. There’s some metal grating surrounding the perimeter of the large, wooden, hexagonal platform which spooked Keller enough to make him resist walking much closer to the edge than the wooden center allowed. He wouldn’t budge as I tried to strain toward the edge for a picture much to the amusement of a few elderly folks who were resting on nearby benches.
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    The next section of the hike was intense. Steep, wooden planks sufficed as “stairs” with no railing and soon vanished altogether, absorbed into the earthen path and steep cliff wall. The ridgeline was perilously narrow, uneven, and wound through several switchbacks before opening to a river pool, where the crashing falls from above collected.

    A friendly hiker heading back up the trail informed Keller and me that there was a large snake on the side of the trail just around the bend ahead. He showed me a picture of a sizable Water Moccasin, or perhaps Copperhead, on his camera phone and I thanked him for kindly sharing the trail intel. Keller and I cautiously made our way around the last switchback; our eyes peeled for any slithering motion at the edges of the trail, but thankfully encountered nothing.

    As we made our way onto the rocky shore of the river, we saw a family of four, plus two dogs, and carefully negotiated passing by each other amongst the wet, slippery rocks and large boulders one had to climb to continue on the trail. I relayed the same info about a snake sighting to the family patriarch who expressed gratitude at my stated concern for his kids and dogs especially to watch out for it.
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    We took a brief rest here, Keller lapping up river water, while I snapped some pictures. The next part of the hike involved a tricky bridge crossing that traversed the river, but there were no stairs leading up to its high location, perched on boulders. We found the best angle of attack possible, and scrambled up the rock, Keller’s nails scarping and grinding on the boulder for purchase, adding to the abundance of scratch marks already there from dogs doing the same maneuver for years upon years.
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    Once we were safely on the bridge, the crossing and dismount were relatively easy. The trail widened out substantially on this leg of the journey, but still had narrow, steep, and uneven sections. We ran parallel to the river for a bout a mile and a half while I expectantly strained my ears to pick up the sound of crashing waterfalls.

The next part of the hike involved a tricky bridge crossing ... but there were no stairs leading up to its high location, perched on boulders

    After a short distance, Lower Whitewater Falls mimics the Upper section in a 400+ foot drop. But I had started my hike around 2:15pm and wasn’t aware of how far the hike from Upper to Lower Falls was. Daylight, plus the two and a half hour drive home were beginning to create a time crunch for me, and I could tell Keller was pretty gassed and hot as well.

    After several stops in shallow creeks for him to submerge and refresh, we found a trail sign informing us it’d be another mile and a half to get to LWF, so we elected to take a break on a nearby riverside bench and reflect on the natural beauty around us as we rested up for the two-mile-plus journey back to the parking lot.

    We tried trail running (but mostly trotting for steep or dangerous sections) on the return trip to save some daylight and some time. When we reached the original overlook trailhead we were both dripping wet from the light rain that had moved in for the final half-hour of the hike. The cool spray churning off UWF only added to the refreshing atmosphere. My skin, so hot and sweaty before, had been quenched by the rain and felt as though it were drinking deeply from the water landing on me.

    It turned out the trail run was helpful in another way, too. While driving home, we cruised by signs stating night paving would begin at 7pm at the designated mile marker. I did some quick math and pressed down the accelerator gently urging us onward. We passed roadwork crews who were just about to begin paving by shutting down one lane of I-85 and several police cars assembling behind them with their lights flashing. We changed lanes and passed the roadwork zone at 7:01pm.
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    Smiling at our good fortune to have so narrowly avoided that potentially monstrous delay, we finished our drive home, Keller snoozing exhaustedly in shotgun, and me listening to nostalgic CDs from my teenage years while marveling at the gorgeous sunset over Lake Hartwell on the Georgia/South Carolina border.

"Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise,making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil."
Ephesians 5:15, 16

    Taking a hike to Raven Cliff Falls with a coworker had a great payoff in the view compared to the pictures I’d seen online and expectations I’d already made. It’s one of the more unusually positioned waterfalls, tumbling over several cascades before taking a sharp left turn and plummeting within the confines of a carved out hollow in the cliffs. The back of this hollowed out chamber has a cavernous, subterranean river essence about it, due to the walls covered in falling water from the overflowing river.
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     But to start this five-mile, out-and-back hike we followed the trailhead, located directly across the street from the parking lot, along a well-maintained but narrow path. Keller was sniffing excitedly at the many campgrounds scattered along the riverbank and we saw a few people setting up camps. We commented about what a good spot this would be to arrange a group camping trip, plenty of sites with pre-made fire-pits and ample room for tents and hammocks.

The forest is dense with shady trees but at midday, even the coolness of the woods isn’t enough to prevent us from shedding light jackets. In late November, the sunny weather is surprisingly warm but the short length of winter days and the relatively long hike cause the light to quickly sink below the treetops and rugged, mountainous surroundings.

The back of this hollowed out chamber has a cavernous, subterranean river essence about it

    We stopped at several waterfalls along the trail, some of impressive height and width. There were pools surrounding one with a relatively easy path to follow with Keller as I snapped some quick pictures and let him get a drink. He could easily wade into the river pool up to his chest and laid down to cool off before shaking dry and bounding up the banks to return to the trail.
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    As we approached the turning point for the hike, a towering mountainside comes into view. With the light fading quickly, we had to turn back and make our way to the trailhead parking lot.

    However, on a return visit to Raven Cliff Falls for a larger camping trip, a group of us ventured past the steep, rock scramble to the right of the falls. Exposed, rocky crags dominate the faces of the cliffs. The trail gruels through another steep incline on the final stretch to a rock outcrop overlooking the secondary drop to Raven Cliff Falls. From here, you can look up toward the cliffs and see nothing but rocks and the trees of the forest on top of the mountain.

The trail gruels through another steep incline on the final stretch to a rock outcrop

    In front of the outcrop is a picturesque waterfall, its glistening waters pooling around the overlook’s bend in the river before rushing over another drop of rocks, back along the trail we’d taken.
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    Back on the trail, there’s a significantly steeper, more rugged path leading higher up the cliffs. Expectantly, we ventured up the trail, scrambling from boulder to tree root, and finally arrived at another, smaller, rock outcrop.

    From here, we got our first, full-view glimpse of Raven Cliff Falls. It was a spectacular, 50-foot, arching spray that shot directly at the cliffs, carving them out with the relentless force of nature.

    Hopping down a level on the rock clearing gives access to the pool surrounding this cliff-side waterfall and a clear look into the back of the cavernous chamber. Downriver, the falls rush toward the lower clearing and rock outcrop we’d just visited, flowing along a winding maze of channeled paths hidden in the rock.

    I wasn't expecting to find this higher vantage point of the falls, but we weren't the first up there that day. A few hammocks were setup with impressive views overlooking the water and a precipitous cliff face. We followed the river upstream for a bit before cooling our feet in the shallow rapids and returning to basecamp for the evening.

    In the morning, I woke up early with an itch to scramble up the path again, and see the sunrise from that highest outcrop. Thanks to a perfectly situated campsite, it was a quick hike to the face of the falls and cliffs. I was completely alone at the monolithic clearing and basked in the silence of the forest.

It was a spectacular, 50-foot, arching spray that shot directly at the cliffs, carving them out with the relentless force of nature

"In His hand are the depths of the earth and the mountain peaks belong to Him."
Psalm 95:4

    Tallulah Gorge was a spectacular check off my Georgia State Parks bucket list. The weather was just warm enough to still get by without a jacket and the sun shone brightly in the crisp autumn air. Fall colors had peaked a few days prior and the wave of tropical storms farther south had stripped many leaves off several limbs of trees throughout the Blue Ridge Mountains.

     There’s a dam-controlled reservoir feeding the river that flows throughout Tallulah Gorge. After being carved out by millions of years of flowing water, the river can now be nearly stopped to allow hikers onto the gorge floor, or it can be allowed to flow at roaring speeds, letting adventurous kayakers rip through the soaring, winding walls of quartzite.

      Due to the pandemic, the park wasn’t permitting hikers into the floor of the gorge and the river was flowing rapidly, nearly reaching the level of the final platform of a dauntingly long series of stairs running down Hurricane Falls. The North Rim hike provided excellent vantage points for Bridal Veil Falls and others. A massive, smooth-faced monolith lays at an angle across the width of the river. The perfect Sliding Rock, as its name implies, awaits hikers and swimmers wishing to cool off on summer days when they’re lucky enough to obtain a floor permit at Tallulah Gorge.

The North Rim hike provided excellent vantage points for Bridal Veil Falls

    Despite the loss of leaves post-hurricane and half a week past peak color, the foliage throughout the park was bursting with brilliant oranges and fiery yellow leaves mixed in with the greens and reds of their later- and earlier-changing neighbors. Individual trees and even single leaves would contain many or all of those colors in gradients and shades that shimmered in the sunlight.

    Seeing the successive ridgelines of densely forested land marching down to the river throughout the gorge adds depth to the scenery. Heading downriver past multiple waterfalls, over cascades, sliding rocks, and along the banks of the gorge, the river flows serenely throughout the park. Every dramatic landscape along the gorge walls and the river banks is surpassed by the next, newly revealed view of ridgeline as the hike bends and travels past towering cliffs.

The foliage throughout the park was bursting with brilliant oranges and fiery yellow leaves

    One of the most interesting landmarks in the park isn't a natural feature at all, but rather, a man-made structure of steel nestled in the trail of the North Rim hike. In 1970, Karl Wallenda performed an incredible daredevil feat by walking a high-wire spanning 1,000 feet across Tallulah Gorge, suspended 750 feet above the ground. The support towers that held the high-wire have been knocked down, but still remain in the park, serving as a fascinating reminder to Karl's incredible feat.

    During my visit, the park wasn't crowded at all. Several people passing by on the trails was the only main interaction I had. At most viewing platforms and overlooks, I had the surroundings to myself to enjoy the perfect autumn weather. With multiple routes and an option to explore the gorge floor, Tallulah offers extensive options for exploring the park.

With multiple routes and an option to explore the gorge floor, Tallulah offers extensive options for exploring the park

"He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together."
Colossians 1:17

Waking up for the Dukes Creek Falls hike was brutal. Eagerness, restless sleep, and a busy day required me to get out of bed, packed, and on the road before 7am. Keller was riding shotgun, dozing off, as the rising sun burned off the cool, misty, fog leftover from last night.
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Once 400 gave way to state highways and country roads, we rolled through foothills of the North Georgia countryside and spied an open, vast stretch of farmland glistening in the foggy rays of sunrise. The scene was so striking, I pulled over and got out of the car to snap a picture. I could feel the foggy wetness clinging to the tall grass as I chased after the sunrise. The quickly evaporating fog caused tricky shifts in lighting - I found several serviceable angles, only to have them allude me as the light changed. Then I caught some rays of light filtering through the branches of a massive tree. The suspended water droplets of the morning mist sparkled and danced in the sun like fiery diamonds in the sky. I quickly snapped the shot and headed back to the car and an eagerly waiting Keller.
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The trailhead parking lot for Dukes Creek Falls was empty and shaded by a vast tree canopy, giving it an impression of being much darker and much earlier than it truly was at that point in the morning. But at the corner of the lot, there’s a clearing and an overlook that drew me immediately toward it. There, the clear brightness of morning spills over a valley stretching the several miles to Yonah Mountain: the lone peak standing dead center in the distance. The valley had yet to have the last of its haze burned off by the sun, making it difficult to get a clear photo, but I made note to try later after the waterfall hike and headed past picnic areas and down to the trailhead.

The suspended water droplets of the morning mist sparkled and danced in the sun like fiery diamonds in the sky

Keller and I had the advantage of being the first people into the park that morning and took advantage of the time we had exploring the well-conserved, thriving vegetation that led right up to the trail. Mosses and mushrooms were blooming across the forest; bright wildflowers - and woodland creatures scurrying through the underbrush - punctuated the verdant, serene, scenery with pops of vibrant life.
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At the first overlook platform, another warrior of the morning caught up to us with trekking poles and full pack, no doubt destined for many more miles than I intended to hike that day. She stopped to chat in a friendly but brief way, used her camera phone to take a quick picture and was gone, eager to gift us both a still and silent morning. The precious quiet once again returned as I changed lenses and zoomed in on the far-off view of the upper portion of Dukes Creek Falls, thundering mightily in the distance but conveying only a muffled growl over the towering treetops. I returned quickly to the path, knowing the through-hiker was likely not the only person who’d arrived to the park by now.

The precious quiet once again returned as I changed lenses and zoomed in on the far-off view of the upper portion of Dukes Creek Falls

Down a series of boardwalk platforms and staircases connecting the trailhead path with a loop trail at the banks of Davis Creek, there are fantastic views of rapids peeking through the trees at every step. A relatively broad path winds ever closer to the far below creek bank as its serpentine switchbacks carve lower and lower. At one stage, an enormous tree had fallen over the path and a rough cut-through had been hacked at the smaller branches. Keller raced with agility through the small clearing as I dipped under the trunk and broke past twigs, widening the way a bit for the folks I could now hear above me on the switchbacks.

The final level has more extensive boardwalks – decking that runs straight ahead as far into the face of a massive wall of cascading 12-foot water as you could care to walk. Here, two main forks of waterfalls mark the confluence of Davis and Dukes Creeks. The mist blowing back and hanging in the air reminds me of the pre-hike stop I took to capture similarly suspended water and sunlight. While the watery fog of that farm had been quickly burning off though, the water here was being continuously renewed. The rushing water slipping over the steep cliffs instantly began contributing to the replenishment of misty air bellowing all about the width of the observation deck.

I dipped under the trunk and brushed past twigs, widening the path a bit for the folks I could now hear above me on the switchbacks

Lower down, there’s another observation deck several stories closer to the creek's surface level. A second set of falls, the barely fathomable upper Dukes Creek Falls - those I'd spied earlier from a distance on the first overlook platform near the trailhead - are obscured by tree branches. You have to crane your head back nearly ninety degrees to fully get the scope and scale of the water plummeting from that 150-foot precipice. The falls careen to the looker’s left of the mountain and continue along other cataracts before accumulating with the water from Davis Creek’s smaller, closer waterfall into Dukes Creek as the two mingle and meander steadily onward.
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I took a moment to sit on the mist-soaked benches of that lower observation deck and gave Keller some food and water. Setting up to meditate, I reflected on the sunrise I'd witnessed on that morning's drive and centered on that image. The sunlight had done a good job of burning away the wetness of the morning fog, but the water of these falls perpetually remained, a snapshot of that endless cycle of evaporation, condensation, and precipitation.
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As long as it continued flowing, the falls were constantly renewing the source of the misty air here. That thought settled my mind into quietness for a bit. I sat a little while longer and reflected on how those thoughts applied to the company we keep. Do they provide a constantly renewing source of life and growth in us? Or, do they snuff out the drive and motivation in our lives, like fog burning off in the sun?

I checked in on Yonah Mountain again. This time it stood out crisply in the light of midday

I’d kept my light hoodie on for the chill-tinged hike down to the falls; but as I finished meditating and Keller and I began winding our way back up, I tied it around my shoulders and relished the rising, warming sun. Autumn hiking temperatures can be tricky and a disregarded hoodie at Amicalola Falls on a previous hike had proven to be a hasty decision as I had sat shivering lightly in that shady summit park.

Today was perfect for shorts and a t-shirt, though. I passed several groups of hikers, families, other dogs, and realized just how lucky I was to have woken up early and enjoyed those observation decks all to myself. They would be crowded soon, bustling with activity and unable to offer the same contemplative sanctuary they'd afforded me.
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By the top, I’d worked up a decent sweat and checked in on Yonah Mountain again. This time it stood out crisply in the light of midday. The fog was all gone, but a touch of haze remained in the air, serving as a reminder of the morning’s misty origin and cementing today’s trail meditation of the water renewal cycle in my mind as I drove home to find similar sources of refreshment in my own daily life.

"Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength." Isaiah 40:30

Excited for a three-night, civilization detox at a remote tree house cabin in the Nantahala National Forest, I eagerly began packing my rations of a couple gallons of water, a few apples, a head of celery, a small pack of rice, and a can of beans.
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Along with food, I packed some other items to aid the mental health and spiritual components of the trip: some written cues for two mostly-memorized Tai Chi sequences; packs of seven distinct incense sticks, each corresponding to one of the body’s chakras; Bible scriptures for meditation; and a journal.
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So, in the vein of Thoreau’s literary masterpiece Walden, I booked a remote cabin on AirBnB and prepared for a meditation retreat, albeit for a mere fraction of the two-year stint by the great American Transcendentalist. No television, music, Internet, phone, books, games, or clocks along with the fasting, ensured an overall reduction in many forms of consumption in general.  By removing those distractions, I intended to free up bandwidth and allow myself to focus on the present moment, deeply meditate, and reset my body’s circadian rhythm to a healthy pattern.

I had been noticing unhealthy tendencies and attitudes toward various forms of consumption in myself

I had been noticing unhealthy tendencies and attitudes toward various forms of consumption in myself, most notably, media consumption. Whether via the web or cable-based; be it social or personal; video, music, news articles, even self-help books, nonfiction literature, podcasts, and audiobooks – they all eventually became escapes themselves, falling into the same trap of overconsumption.

Also, I knew I spent far too much time mentally consuming myself. Simultaneously playing the victim and the aggressor, I was allowing myself to become consumed by my own thoughts, fears, desires, frustrations, hopes, insecurities, anxieties, or any emotion or mental state that happened to enter my perception. I grew adept at harshly but justifiably critiquing myself at times, and petulantly but unnecessarily defending myself at others. However, I was rarely, if ever, simply observing myself and how emotions, like joy and frustration – or mental states, like thinking and imagining – affect my actions.

But later, I learned that the monologue itself is a mere manifestation of the true enemy – the ego

This resignation of our emotional stability can be a subtle, slow type of torture we perform on ourselves. I didn’t even realize how much or for how long I had allowed the voice of doubt, the sense of self-consciousness, and critic of my thoughts and actions to wrest control over the internal monologue I had once thought myself to govern. Regaining control over that self-talk seemed like a worthy goal. I found it reasonable to want to regulate that kind of inner discourse to avoid extraneous negativity and self-serving affirmations. But later, I learned that the monologue itself is a mere manifestation of the true enemy – the ego.

I also reevaluated my food consumption in general terms of diet and what food as fuel means for daily provisioning. With a handful of rice and beans, along with an apple, celery, and plenty of water, it seems a misnomer to call it fasting, but this dramatic reduction in daily food intake helped me fully realize my personal tendency toward overeating, even the healthiest of foods.

Overconsumption in general seemed like a root cause for many of the problems I saw not only in myself, but also in the world around us

I began examining my own relationship with food and the roles I expect it to play – be they physiological sustenance roles, psychological coping ones, social roles for fellowship amongst others who may be dining with me, or a spiritual role to provide thanksgiving, praise, and glory to God.
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The river ran deeper still; but I felt sufficiently tasked with recapitulating those frames of mind, and knew I stood teetering on the brink of overwhelming myself with too much analysis. Overconsumption in general seemed like a root cause for many of the problems I saw not only in myself, but also in the world around us.

While at the cabin, a few noteworthy events took place for which all my preparations and deliberate intention setting could never fortify me. First, I had some of the greatest meditation sessions of my life. I'd frequently heard of stopping the internal monologue as a meditative practice, but I had never been capable of achieving any significant inner silence until this trip. When it happened, though, it was truly glorious.

The civilization detox had bolstered my spirit and left me with a calm sense of clarity that lasted for weeks

After spending the first two days meditatively carving my hiking staff, burning incense, praying, and (lightly) fasting, I noticed a seismic shift in my perception as I stood on the cabin deck, gazing out into the forest. All of my surroundings seemed to blur and then dissolve after an hour or so of silent, motionless meditation. The sun then began to reappear as the fixed star that it was, and I had a greater sense of the rotation of Earth causing the supposed "rising" and "setting" of the sun as it "moved" across the sky.
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Also, the bears stalking my dog and me the first night and throughout the following days, grew bolder. The first night, an enormous mother bear tried to approach the cabin deck, emerging just enough from the forest for me to identify it in the fading twilight, attracted by the smell of my beans cooking for dinner, before sheltering Keller and myself inside. The next day, I saw her juvenile cub cross my path while Keller and I were out for a morning hike. It was the closest encounter with a wild bear I'd ever had and was exhilarating. On the final evening, I captured a photo of the returning juvenile, curiously peeking his head around a shed no more than 15 feet from my cabin.

As I packed my things to leave the following morning, I reflected on all that had taken place. The civilization detox had bolstered my spirit and left me with a calm sense of clarity that lasted for weeks. Unfortunately, the return to everyday life had a deleterious effect on all the progress I'd made, and I knew that future trips would be necessary to recall and reclaim that inner peace.

"But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience."

Romans 8:25