Beaded Buffalo

“Silence is the true friend that never betrays.” ~ Confucius

Poet Emily Dickinson once described herself as having an “appetite for silence.” In that case, you could say I’m a gluttonous hog insatiably slobbering at the trough of solitude. To me, incessant societal noise is a disease that can be cured only by visiting quiet places buried deep in the wilds, places of stillness where I am alone and can go undisturbed for days on end.

Like South Dakota’s Wind Cave National Park, where I’ve heard shadows on the land bumping into one another as the sun moved toward the horizon. Or Buffalo Gap National Grassland down the road, where I’ve watched the land rise and fall in front of me, and heard the earth inhale and exhale. Or Northern California’s Kalmiopsis Wilderness, where I’ve listened as shooting stars scratched the night sky. I need such places because while there, the stillness descends and wraps itself around me like an old friend come to offer comfort.

Problem is, like any good junkie, my addiction can’t be quickly or easily satisfied. These days, with the words “terrorist” and “war” a part of our daily vocabulary and our psyches are numbed by apprehension, I need to go ostrich and bury my head in the quietude wilderness offers. I want to escape from the realities that smack me between the eyes in the morning news. I want to hide, if just temporarily, where the air is heavy with silence, so I can heal and come back whole again.

“Conversation enriches the understanding, but solitude is the school of genius.”

……………….— Edward Gibbon, author, Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire

To literalists, the word “silence” means no sounds at all. I’m not that extreme. I don’t mind birdsong carried on the wind, or the way a gentle breeze plays with dried prairie grass, or the clicking of a dragonfly’s wings in flight. Those sounds I need for they are my medicine. It’s the man-made intrusions I can do without; the cell phones and honking horns and droning lawn mowers that dull the senses and fog your inner vision.

I often wonder why I’m this way. Am I a societal misfit? A misanthrope? A malcontent?

A loner?

In a sense, yes, because I have no qualms about going solo into the wilds. It suits me and offers the peace I need. Some would call it loneliness, but to me, it’s a quiet exultation.

There are lots of folks who share this obsession, although perhaps to varying degrees. There are millions of backpackers and hikers Out There, all of whom thrive on literally walking away from civilization and turning their backs on its noisome distractions. Being a member of the Brotherhood, or Sisterhood, of Silence carries with it certain understandings. You know that when you strike off into silent places, you begin a ritual, the initial phase being the first day or two as your senses adjust to the emptiness. Your eardrums, especially, aren’t used to such nothingness.

As you begin to relax and forget about the numbing sounds of society, you become part of the natural world and slowly allow yourself to be shaped according to nature’s ways. This is when your mind and thoughts start to drift freely like gossamer on the wind, unencumbered and following a course not meant to be plotted by human logic. Give in to it and you enter the realm of peace and harmony, because nature knows no other way.

“…In utter solitude, strange things may happen to the mind.”

……………………………………………………………..~ Henry Beston, nature writer

Solitude stirs a watchfulness that sharpens your senses and makes you alert. The silence rekindles primal instincts that were vital to our ancestors’ survival. In their world, inattention to the smallest sound meant the difference between making it back to the cave at night or getting eaten.

In the stillness, emotions surface. Your self-awareness is heightened, as is your creativity, sympathy, sensitivity, compassion and empathy. Because there are no noisy distractions, the land becomes your sounding board. It’s where you clearly hear the voice of reason that can safely and accurately guide you from within. When it comes to choosing life’s paths, the heart knows, but it whispers and can best be heard in the stillness of the wilds.

There are those who say we each have the capacity to go to a place of quietness within ourselves and find peace in the face of chaos. They say it’s a state of being that resides in all of us and isn’t determined by circumstances or place. They’re obviously referring to some sort of meditation or thought-control exercises, which don’t work on a Neanderthal like me.

Instead, I’ve devised my own way to get my fix. The mountain men of the early 1800s — the original loners and seekers of solitude — carried their most valuable possessions in a “possibles bag.” I do the same. I carry a leather pouch that holds such valuables as a stone, a feather, and a clump of buffalo hair found during some of my most memorable hikes. When times get too stressful and I need the silence that can only be found deep in the wilds, I pull out one of my totems, hold it, and think about the goodness I felt in the land of its origin. If I squeeze my brain hard enough, the memories surface, as do the sights and smells and sounds from that distant, past place. And I’m there again, surrounded by the precious, calming quiet I must have.

You probably have your own form of escape, because like me, you realize that in solitude lies truth and beauty. You also know that unspoken thoughts are the strongest and most powerful. But enough talking. It’s time to lose ourselves once more in the sweet silence of our memories.

A version of this article appeared in Backpacker Magazine.