My life has been very loud lately. Unrelenting background pandemonium. My racing mind trying to make sense of these things that are in essence mostly senseless. This human condition. Is it all in my head? Am I the only one hearing it all? Sunday morning. All this noise makes me long for solitude. I need it. To hush this commotion. To quiet this outer racket in an attempt to also silence this inner uproar. Just me and my bike, out to Fundy National Park. Pedaling up Whitetail, the noise evaporates as I steadily disappear into the silence behind it. This tranquil forest. Where truth lives. Soothing. Comforting. At the mid-way point of the Black Horse trail, I stop at the cabin hoping that it isn’t rented. It’s empty. I take my glasses, helmet and backpack off and sit. They chose to build the cabin in this exact spot for a reason. The view of the Bay of Fundy beyond the thick forest is amazing. The deep glorious silence of this spot in the vast woodland making me feel so very insignificant. Not in a bad way. Simply putting me in my place. Shifting my entire perspective. Part of me dying. Part of me reborn. The re-emergence of a certain clarity. I have become most comfortable and at peace alone in the woods. No matter how loud the question, I have learned that the answer is always sitting alone amongst the silence of the trees. I can’t tell you how long I stayed there. Time seemed to stand still. All I know is that the person who got back on his bike for the second half of the ride was a totally different person than the one who rode there moments earlier.
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