Making friends with the Dark

Night walk, Castlegrove, Tuam

As the sun is rising, I hear birds singing a spring morning song. The gravel crunches under foot and I can taste the moist earthy air of the forest. I see a hare racing through the long grass and lichens growing on the rocks. The wind blows gently through the trees. I have always loved walking in nature. Not for exercise but to drop out of my head and commune with nature. Breathing mindfully, opening my senses and remaining as present as possible to the moment. Sounds easy, but when presented with the shock and the pain of losing someone close it’s easier said than done.

A friend of mine lost his wife a few years ago. They were childhood sweet hearts and had two now grown children together. Her death was tragic to the family and he missed her terribly. He would walk the length of Salthill promenade morning and evening. It was his way to cope, to drain the energy and almost physically exhaust the pain. But it came at a price.

So mentally caught up in his anguish, he didn’t even notice the physical impact of wearing the wrong shoes and the effect the constant pounding was having. It caused irreparable ligament and tendon damage to his ankle.

He was walking, but he wasn’t there. Caught in the maelstrom of inner noise, it was like he was in a loop with no way out. But he didn’t know any other way, this was his response to the grief, an automatic coping mechanism.

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Exercise can be a great way to burn off pent-up energy and stress. But it can become just another crutch, and used to avoid what is actually going on. If you have experienced deep loss, you will understand the need at times to just let off steam.

My mother used to get up in the middle of the night and paint the house after my Dad died. Caught up in the head, unable to sleep, unable to think straight, painting walls was her way of channeling that.

I take a regular walk up a hill, where initially I use the ascent to shake the mental cobwebs, getting out of my head and getting the heart pumping. Then when I reach the top I just drop into it. I become very aware of my physicality and clear mental state, then walk in nature with purpose, the purpose of being present to the moment. Which is purpose enough. I inhale the beauty of the simple things, the rocks, the colour of the heathers, the shape of clouds. And fungi. I love fungi. They have an effect on me where I seem to shrink down to their size, I love discovering different ones and marvel at their diversity.

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Over the winter I’ve taken up walking in the dark. My intention was to address any residual fears and cut out the many senses and just be more present. The new moon is my favourite time because it is so inky dark. It wasn’t always like that. At first it was pretty scary; I had a few moments of terror on my initial outings. But then as I realised there was nothing to fear and it was all in my head I settled in. I made friends with the dark and now when I walk it is a wonderful feeling. The velvety cold darkness wraps around my body and I feel held and safe. Like walking naked without a care.

On my day time walks I have various stops along the way where I just sit or hang out with the trees. When there is a lot of emotional upheaval, I find a quiet spot where I am witnessed by the trees and I just allow myself to express. To feel and deeply share with the forest. I trust that nature absorbs and recycles that emotional energy and always feel better after being held in this way by nature. Insights come to me, I have a refreshed creativity. The forest doesn’t judge and I am as authentic as I could ever be. It is so freeing and renewing.

When my daughter died, I just did that daily. I’d walk initially to burn off then slow it all down. I would allow myself to just feel and be present. Sometimes there would be deep anguish, or other times heavy depressive feelings. Darkness just looking to be acknowledged and befriended. I would walk, stand, sit and express whatever was coming up. Always returning with a sense of renewal. The journey through grief is the way we heal.

Nature is just another ally waiting to support us if we are willing to go there and even ask for that support. To trust we will be held and in doing so walk a little lighter as we share the pain and leave a little of our burden behind.

May your time in nature bring healing and renewal.

Jason.