For the second year in a row, the pandemic interfered with my annual ritual of attending a formal silent retreat at a residential meditation center. Last year my substitute was holing up in a hotel room at Longwood Gardens to deepen my mindful photography skills.
This year I felt a strong pull to immerse myself in a remote, natural setting — less manicured, a little wilder, but without going as far as backpacking alone. I don’t pretend to be a hard core camper and have nothing to prove to anyone (especially myself) in this regard.
I found the perfect middle ground in my Tiny Cabin Getaway near Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. Though absolutely everything about the accommodations seemed tailor-made for my solo meditation retreat wishes, this blog is not about the tiny cabin itself.
This story is about the joke that the Universe played on me shortly after I arrived.
I pulled into my cabin’s parking space early in the evening — about 5:30 or so. Mine was one of about ten tiny cabins sprinkled around a loop surrounded by forest. Although plenty of space separated the sites, my thinking brain was busy critiquing.
In the few short steps between my car and the cabin, a barrage of negative thoughts elbowed their way to the forefront:
“I can still hear the cars from the main road.”
“I’m not as secluded as I wanted to be.”
“This doesn’t feel as wild as I wanted it to be.”
Blah blah blah…
Once inside the cabin, though, the rest of the world fell away. All I could see was the forest.
Instantly delighted with the minimalist, spic and span nest where I would spend the next three nights, I unpacked and felt my body and mind beginning to unwind. I called my family for one last goodbye before turning off my phone and releasing it to the cell phone “lock box”.
I wasn’t hungry enough for dinner, so decided to explore the woods with a short walk before it got dark. A light drizzle had started, so I pulled on my grey rain pants, my moss green rain jacket, and beige wide-brimmed rain hat. (Yes, the colors are important to the rest of the story.)
The first thing I noticed was that it was a little scary stepping into a forest alone in a strange place, even when my minivan was within sight.
I don’t experience true fear in my protected suburban bubble very often, so it was interesting to notice the physical feeling of that emotion while also doing my real time mindfulness check-ins:
What’s actually happening in my mind, my body, and my external environment in this moment?
With each check-in, even after walking face-first into a spider web, the present moment reality was that I was safe.
Meanwhile, the louder thinking that was dominating my headspace had reverted to,
“I can still hear the cars.”
“I can see my van and other cabins in the distance.”
“This isn’t wild enough.”
“I paid money to get away from civilization. This isn’t good enough.”
Blah blah blah…
Just a few minutes into my walk, I saw an inviting looking stone — smooth, flat, and lichen-mottled. My Goldilocks test confirmed it was the perfect height for a comfortable meditation posture.
I closed my eyes and settled into the present moment, tuning into my body, deepening my breath awareness. Shifting my chosen anchor of attention to the sounds around me, I could hear the crickets’ chorus gaining momentum and the sounds of squirrels chasing each other in the leaves.
Yes, I could hear cars in the distance every so often, but there was so much more to notice in the forest, including the sound of tiny rain drops falling on my hat.
And then, another sound.
Sticks cracked somewhere behind me. I knew there were footpaths on this property, but I hadn’t found them yet. I felt immediately self-conscious about the possibility of somebody finding me here meditating on a rock. I stayed with my breath another cycle or two, then heard more sticks cracking.
Keeping my body still (I knew I was well camouflaged so maybe I could hide from people this way), I turned my head slowly to look over my right shoulder.
About 15 yards away stood an adult black bear, nosing around the forest floor. It hadn’t seen me.
I didn’t move a muscle, trying for the life of me to remember what the difference was between instructions for a black bear vs. a grizzly bear encounter. I didn’t remember ever having read, “If meditating on a rock, do X.”
While the racing thoughts about what to “do” filled my head, my body’s alarm system did its job: my heart pounded in my chest, my muscles tensed up, my brain released a flood of adrenaline, my cheeks felt tingly.
Still, I didn’t move, not knowing what would happen if I startled the bear.
The bear stopped snuffling the ground and put its nose up in the air, clearly smelling something foreign. After just a moment of exploratory air sniffing, it turned its head toward me and we locked eyes.
In that moment, we were connected. I could literally sense into our shared experience of, “What the hell are you doing here?” The bear was, of course, much more justified in this feeling than I was.
After just a few seconds, the poor bear turned and ran away, even looking over its shoulder to make sure I wasn’t following it. I felt sad to have frightened the magnificent animal with my mere presence, even while my own body’s fear responses were still activated.
After my friend (a one-way friendship, to be sure) disappeared into the forest, even though I knew from a logical standpoint that I was safe, I sprang from my rock and ran back to my tiny cabin.
Overriding the full sensory experience was the almost palpable feel of the Universe laughing at its joke on me.
“Not wild enough for you, huh?”
If you would like to strengthen your capacity to respond skillfully to life’s challenges, uncertainty, and real or imagined bears, you might be interested in my upcoming invitation-only SIY Adaptive Resilience Series. Contact me if you’d like more information.
Colleen says
omg!
Martha Brettschneider says
Haha, Colleen! My sentiments too! :-) With gratitude, Martha
Christina says
Fun story Martha. You kept me captivated. I love your writing!
Martha Brettschneider says
So glad you enjoyed it, Christina. Miss you, friend, and hope you are well! With gratitude, Martha
Debbie Kovach says
Martha…What a way to start your mindful, wilderness retreat! You can’t “top” that encounter…with the real deal, King of the forest. He/she probably thought there wasn’t enough room on the rock for you 2, or you exuded such an aura of relaxation, that it respected your privacy. I won’t ask what you journaled when you returned to the cabin or if you called home! But, you did lock your cabin door, right?!
Al’s well that ends well…whew!
Debbie
Martha Brettschneider says
Definitely the real deal, Debbie. What a gift it was. And I’ll keep it real here and admit that when I got back to the cabin I DID take my phone out of the box to call my 23-year-old son, who is an experienced outdoorsman — first to ask for the proper black bear response (which is make yourself big, talk to it/make noise, and fight back if attacked — NONE of which I did, — but of course I wasn’t being attacked!), and second reason to make sure that someone in my family heard the truth of the story while it was fresh. After the call I DID put the phone back in the box for the next three days. It was heaven. In fact, I didn’t even have a clock, which was a whole additional layer of mindfulness practice — figuring out if I was really hungry and really tired without knowing the time. But I think that’s another blog post! Always great to hear from you, Debbie. With gratitude, Martha
Lilian D Sy says
You are so brave, Martha.
I don’t think I can do even one day all by myself. I can do without TV, Radio, Emails, Cell phones, etc. I’ve done silent retreats where I can still see people and smile at them.
I can just see a bear knocking on the huge window beside the bed!
Glad you were safe,
Lilian
Martha Brettschneider says
You are the second person to mention the possibility of the bear coming back to my cabin, Lilian. If you had seen the look of fear on the bear’s face as it ran away from me, you would understand why that scenario never occurred to me. I never would have thought I would be able to read the expression on a bear’s face, but it was so clear to me. My son described black bears as being like big dogs (who can also go on the defensive if their babies are endangered). Since no cubs were around and I didn’t have any food on me, the bear had no reason to approach me. I could feel its innate gentleness while respecting its wildness. I will never forget it looking back over its shoulder at me as it ran, to see if I was chasing it. Such a mix of emotions, as I was unable to reassure it that I wasn’t dangerous. Grizzlies, on the other hand, are a different bear altogether. Fortunately I didn’t need to worry about grizzlies in Virginia. :-) Thanks for your curiosity and your personal work, my friend! With gratitude, Martha
Ellen Van Buren says
My gosh…you have been my loyal taxi driver twice since you returned from your solo get-a-way. We talked about the lovely weather, along with other vital stuff. Not a word about the bear! As your mom, I find your reaction not surprising. I cannot remember an occasion where you expressed fear..of anything..Brettschneider women are tough. Love the story.
Martha Brettschneider says
Glad you liked the story, Mom! Sorry I forgot to tell you about the bear — probably knew I was going to write about it. Surprise! :-) The fear was there, to be sure. It was fun realizing that I’ve developed pretty good tools to just sit (literally) with those feelings until they pass. Hugs! Martha
Martha Hendricks says
Oh, Martha, I think I’m going to have to get serious again about developing those mindfulness chops!! You just sold me all over again! I’m so impressed that you were able to hold both some wise “fear” while also honoring the soul of the bear. I spent a week at the family lake cottage years ago with no clocks. Just my cat and I. It was a powerful time and I wish I’d done it again…just need to take the step once warmer weather comes again…a long time from now in Minnesota!! Love, TOM
Martha Brettschneider says
Thanks for the kind words, Martha! Along with my wise teacher the bear, the “no clock” piece was also super interesting. I hadn’t anticipated that, actually, as the retreat centers I’ve visited all had clocks in the rooms or reminded you to bring one. I had one full day of clouds and rain so thick for 24 hours that I truly had not the slightest idea what time it was! For all I know, I ate dinner at 3 pm and went to sleep at 5 pm. I’ll never know! Fun type of awareness to play with (“What does my body really need in this moment?). With virtual hugs and gratitude, TOM