Something deep down and Ancient whispered

I stepped into Spring… And into something more that words can’t quite hold.

Not just warmer air or longer light, but a feeling—a remembering in familiarity. One that pictures could never capture because it doesn’t reside on the surface. Words can’t fully explain it either.

But these moments by the ocean, stream, or puddle. Caught in a drizzle deep in the forest, standing next to a newly blossomed bush, Or staring up at a massive growth of trees… These forces of wind, rain, and silence touched something deep within me that I’ve been missing.

Something ancient, with the kind of knowing that doesn’t shout—it settles in quietly and waits for you to notice before it offers its power or reverence.

It doesn’t arrive in grand events; though it’s there too if you listen, but in tiny wild moments tucked away where most don’t think to look.

Oh, it’s always been there, but it was drowned out by other “more important” things.

It was most alive in me today when I decided to find a place just off the path, away from notice and full of stillness. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep.

These forests…they were here when I was a child. I remember visiting them with my family and having the exuberance as the child I encountered today.

She was so enamored by the fact there was a tree big enough for her to fit into that she didn’t hesitate to tell me about it. And she was right…

These trees were huge! I was even able to fit into one myself, and you know what I discovered when I did?

Silence.

Silence, like walking into a soundproof room. It made me automatically want to whisper.

And that’s when I realized—Our world is full of noises, even in the depth of this forest.

It seemed so much quieter than the city’s traffic, conversations, or mechanical hums. But even here…I was still fighting noise.

At night, it was a neighbor’s music, the starting of a truck, the road, the rain. During the day, it was the wind, the surf, the people—even the birds whistling at each other.

It was all distracting me from finding peace inside myself.

BUT, I was letting it.

See, it’s a choice that I was making…

I was allowing those noises to distract me instead of tuning them out and embracing my purpose for being here in the first place.

Standing in the pure silence within that giant of a cedar. That’s what I had been looking for and didn’t understand.

A place to clear it all out and start with a new perspective.

It may have been just another massive tree to the others who came to visit that day, but to me it was a window into the universe.

I haven’t yet explained why I’m out here—rewilding myself on the coast.

I said I was following freedom, but I didn’t realize the depth of it until I was sitting on a fallen tree. A distance from the path most taken.

Smelling the wafts of fragrance each person wore, or hearing the thoughts they were sharing with one another.

Captivity runs deep, but maybe…not as deep as you think.

What others may have missed is that even though these trees were tall and massive above the ground, their roots… well, they run just under the surface.

There were many giants in this forest that had toppled. Exposing this seemingly fragile fact—but then again, that might be part of their strength.

Why might a tree’s roots not take advantage of the softness and vulnerability of the deep earth? That’s not where they gain nourishment.

They thrive in the light, the moisture, and the decomposition on the surface. If they went deeper, they wouldn’t be able to access these as well and would most likely struggle.

I tried to walk away from captivity, but it followed me.

I thought this journey would be about nature, about being wild and strong and free again. But what I’m really doing is unraveling. Unlearning the beliefs I had that kept me captive, caged, and limited.

I found myself angry the other night—for choosing comfort. For spending money on a hotel room.

Not because of the money itself, but because shelter felt like permanence. Like being locked in or caged again by the very things that brought me to this pilgrimage of the mind and body.

Then I realized—society taught me that I need permission. Permission to rest, to mend my aches and bruises, to be comfortable.

It tells us we can have these things ONLY if we earn them the “right” way.

Food felt justified, but shelter? That was harder. It meant staying…Surrendering …

And then something else came back to me—a sign I saw outside a cafe a few days ago. It read, “Bathrooms are for paying customers only.”

I understood the need to financially support resources—but I couldn’t help but think how horrible it is to turn people away when they’re simply trying to meet a basic human need in a place with so few options.

What does that say about us?

How casually we’ve normalized denying care and dignity to those who haven’t “earned” it.

How quietly cruel our culture has become. And in contrast—the wild never posts signs.

The forest doesn’t ask for proof of purchase. The trees don’t charge you for resting in their shade. The birds don’t bar you from the canopy.

The wild simply asks that you move with care. That you pay attention. That you give space, and take only what’s offered freely without destroying.

The wild doesn’t punish you for needing rest. It just allows you the space. It welcomes you back—even when you’re tired.

As long as it’s met with mutual respect, it will be there for you.

The daisies, the berry bushes, the ferns, the trees—even the birds accept your presence with no other ask then to allow them their space too.

This isn’t a vacation. It’s a reckoning. A return. A realignment with the rhythms I once knew before I was taught to feel guilty for needing care.

Am I telling you to step off the well-warn paths? No.

Those paths are there for a reason. They protect the natural spaces with respect and allow quicker, safer passage in a chaotic or hazardous place. Even the wild animals use them when the opportunity arises.

However, sometimes the deer gets hit by a car. The bunny gets snatched by a wolf. The bug gets splattered on a windshield.

So, be wary. Keep a watchful eye, and keep yourself able to step back into the forest. Not out of fear, but choice.

This whisper I’ve ignored for years wasn’t asking me to abandon everything—It was asking me to remember myself.

So let me ask you—

Have you felt it too?

That quiet ache when the world tells you to stay in line, but your soul longs to step sideways?

Have you followed the crowd when you knew your feet wanted to turn somewhere else?

Don’t overlook the log because of its commonality—recognize what it’s sacrificing for the future of growth.

The old ways may be ancient, but they’re more valuable than we’ve been taught.

They hold a wisdom that runs just under the surface—and if you’re still long enough, you might hear that whisper too.

As always, the forest grows, the journey continues, adventure awaits—and you’re never truly alone.

I’ve always known I had a different perspective. Now I hope you can too.

Those who know, call me Niki. Once you know, you can too.