How To Mark A Threshold
Field notes from my solo fast in Inverness, marking a relational severance, the transition of becoming a therapist and announcing a Contemplative Day Walk I am facilitating in Summer: The Wild Twin.
Feeeeld / field Notes
Point Reyes National Seashore
January 2025
A. I step out of the asphalt pavement into the dirt path surrounded by trees and bow at the threshold. My pack is heavy against my back. Grassy fields filled with thistle below, sky above, spirit imbued in everything in between. I walk two miles down the Lagunitas trail. The deeper I go into the wilderness, the deeper I go into myself. This is Inverness.
B. I set up my camp and see two deer on the ridge eating the tall grass. The golden hour blesses everything it touches.
C. I put up the prayer flags and they flap gently in the wind. I introduce myself to the land. I tell the fennel, the poison hemlock, the blackberry bushes, my intention of marking this transition of becoming a therapist. They are great listeners and don’t interrupt me.
D. I can hear the ocean roar from the newfound place I now make my home. It’s almost as if she is calling me to her. I obediently walk to the beach. The trees on the path frame the seaside. Everything sparkles. The waves crash ravenously, yet her surface is elegantly opal as she reflects the orgasm the sunset is having; her climax is an expression of oranges, pinks, purples, and soft blues. The clouds catch the particles of color, reflecting the immense beauty of it all. I indulge in the sky. This is my supper. Where does the wholeness of the sky end and my joy begin? Where does my joy end and the immensity of the sky begin?
E. Stillness. I watch the darkness of the night swallow the day and the silhouettes of the seaside birds bob on the water. When Mercury makes its appearance in the dark blue sky, I walk myself back home - I don’t take out my headlamp to light my path for the moon is almost full. There’s this emerging feeling of self-reliance, deep-rooted safety within myself, and freedom, yes! freedom abounds! The moon illuminates my path and the prayer flags flap in the wind as if greeting me back to my campsite. I slip into my winter cocoon and its dark embrace.
F. Incessant winds wooooooooooooooo’ing all night. Moving my tent this way and that. Speaking through the creaking of the brush. I feel cortisol ripple through the fabric of my body. Who goes there?
I talk to myself; my fearful one, as I would a child. “That’s just the wind sweetie. The wind is a powerful being, a gardener even, it helps spread pollen and seeds. In fact, it’s so powerful humans try to harness it so that it can power up entire cities!” with that my fearful one; my inner child dozes off to sleep. I toss and turn. My toes are cold.
G. When I wake, I notice it is warm in my tent and the wind has ceased blowing. I walk out and the sun is out with the vastness of the blue sky. My belly is empty.
H. I send my check-in to my buddy via satellite, “good morning” and “good night” are all we text back and forth. I warm some water to brew sage leaves. My teapot shines brightly as the sun’s rays touches its silver-hammered body, reflecting the sunlight like a disco ball. What are we celebrating? what are we dancing for? the birds chirp.
I. It’s the start of a new relationship with myself. It’s a homecoming.
I don’t feel hungry yet.
J. I walk down to the beach, down the hallway of grass, stone, and mud. Quails, wrens, and rabbits scatter back into their burrows as they catch a glimpse or a scent of me.
K. The ocean sings her morning song. I watch the waves and the mama and baby seagulls eat tiny crabs after the waves recoil back into its incessant rhythmic dance. Trance. I watch the ducks bob up and down from the ocean’s surface and dip under the waves.
L. I lay on the beach taking in the sun. Trying to warm up my cold bones. I’m wearing two sweaters, a down jacket, a rain jacket, a thermal base layer, insulated rain pants, gloves, and a beanie. My layers - a chrysalis. I lay there for hours and hours on end like a lizard on a rock or a plant photosynthesizing. Flies swarm over me. I must be decomposing.
M. Am I a stone? or a shriveled-up kelp that washed up a shore? Time is measured by the length of breaths. Cause and effect. Wave after wave. I worry that the folks walking the beach think I’m homeless. But I don’t do anything to change my position or their minds and keep photosynthesizing. Disintegrating. Doing God’s work.
N. The hunger makes an entrance. It comes faded and dull but doesn’t do its usual summersault in my belly. It doesn’t rumble and coil into itself. It must be because of all the people who are eating for me. I can feel their prayers on me. I think to myself.
O. I think of quitting. Of leaving! I dream of the pistachios locked in the bear box back at camp; “my emergency food”
is this an emergency?!
I dream of pasta bolognese, butter-herbed polenta, grilled chicken, and fresh salads… my stomach growls.
P. Crows fly by cawing and I get the intuitive feeling that my teacher and friend Tina is sending me strength & checking in on me.
Q. Pistachios 1 // Reet 0
I’m still hungry.
Sandy’s words, before I crossed the threshold swam up the current of my stream of consciousness….. “Whenever you feel hungry think to yourself, what are you really hungry for? …May it remind you of the world’s hunger for you and your gifts…”
R. I gather wood and make a fire at the beach during sunset. The colors are hysterical. Driftwood is almost too beautiful to burn. I draw a circle around us on the sand with a long stick. “Bienvenido abuelito” I tell the fire. I sing him a song. The ocean too. I warm my toes.
Ah, sweet alchemy of land, fire, ocean, moon, and stars.
This medicine is as good as ten mothers.
The scent of smoke mixed with my own sweat and body odor teleports me to the nights when I would sit by the fire for hours and hours on end while working as a wilderness guide wandering the desert of the Apache & Yavapai peoples. Past becomes present. The present becomes layered.
S. The coyotes howl and I remember my first time fasting with my ecopsychology cohort in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. Land of the Ute people, black-eyed aspen trees, dandelions, and black bears. On the second night of our fast, each of us howled in a cacophony to one another from our own solo spots. The memory stretches a smile across my face. I listen.
T. A warmer night. No winds. Almost a full night’s rest. Could’ve been the prayers of my people or those twenty-two pistachios.
U. I stretch myself outside of my cocoon. I give thanks. I try to write down my dreams. Dreams of being left out. Of being unwanted. Forgotten. Tricked. I let it all fade like the morning fog… cloud break. It’s suddenly a sunny day. I check in with my buddy. “Good morning. Spirits are high today.” I pray, meditate, sip my sage tea, and walk to the beach. I make a spiral with stones; a prayercraft of gratitude for my community, teachers, guides, and my Self. I take my clothes off! It’s that warm! and I lay like a seal washed up a shore. I sip all the nutrients from the sun from my pores. Oh to become a plant. I stretch and do yoga on the bridge that borders the creek and the ocean. A bridge into the other world. I walk in circles slowly. My heart pounds quickly. I need to take it easy.
V. I put on some base layers and make myself decent. I take off to slowly walk the beach. The sand is acupressure on my feet. I gather enough driftwood for another nightly ritual with fire, sky, moon, and stars. Gratitude curls up in my heart like a cozy rabbit. I’m glad I didn’t leave!
Cool sand. Warm sun. Contrasts. Joy.
W. Fire. I cast a circle in the sand around us. Silent sitting. Listen. Moonstar. Skylight. More silence. The vision makes itself known. I try to bargain but it insists. I call in the support of God, Yeshua, Miriam, the holy spirit, Atabeyra, Siddhartha Gautama, Guanyin, Madre Teresa, Prophet Muhammad, Yemanya, Oshun, Joanna Macy, and all the honorable ancestors who wish me well.
Oh Mother Ocean, give me your gift of vast holding. Your immense capacity to hold it all…
X. Rough night of sleep. Tossin’ and turning. I am able to rest better after a tinkle. Day four. I break-fast in the morning with salmon and roasted seaweed. I eat slowly. I pray and give thanks to the salmon, its life, travels, and sacrifice. From the river to the sea back to the creeks to spawn and die. It’s life transmuting and becoming mine. Oh to be a salmon.
I notice all the smells. Feel the textures in my mouth and chew. Slowly. Religiously. Sacrament of the river and sea. holy. holy. holy. My tea waits for me to sip it. A spiraling heat swirling from the cup. I feel nourished. Energized and prayerful. I welcome her back into my body. My disavowed parts. My exiled parts. My prayerful one.
Y. I pack up my camp, surprised everything fits in my backpack. I say goodbye and thank you to the fennel, the poison hemlock, the blackberry bushes, the pine and the thistle. I say goodbye and thank you to the quail, the wrens, the rabbits, and other winged ones I do not know by name. I bow in gratitude to the soil that held space for my disintegration and re-membering.
Z. I walk out onto the Lagunitas trail. 2 miles. I am greeted by a red-tail hawk on the head of the trail.
The uphill is a battle. I realize I should’ve taken off my thermal bases. My heart pounds but I feel strong. The salmon’s life makes me strong. The uphill is like going against the current. I make it up the hill and the trail flattens. I walk slowly savoring each step with the nostalgia that often comes with endings. I caress the grasses between my fingers. I stop to notice the banana slugs, the cypress, and hummingbirds. As the trail nears its end I am greeted by the Birch; family of the aspens and it’s almost like we share a secret.
a smile unfurls from my lips. The world feels like a safe and joyous place. I feel strong within myself. In relationship with my Self. Connected with the possibilities of being free. I bow to the threshold and the ceremony ends.
Something else begins again….
Inverness
At the the top of the ridge there’s a vision of
orange-gold light through eccentric trees
for only birds to sing about. Wind shivering
the huckleberry scrub, sun unraveling in the salt haze
of the ocean. Then the evening marine-layer reaches you
on its way up Mt. Vision, turning the branch-arched path
into a caricature of a quest, and you divide yourself into
a novel wanting to come true
and the knowing that it has.
Praise the plain warm clothes,
continue out until dark.
-David Bailey
New Ecotherapy Program Announcement!
The Wild Twin: Rewilding the Soul into Wholeness
With Cynthia Eisho Morrow and Reet Rannik Carías
Sunday, June 22, 2025 ~ 9:00 am – 5:00 pm
Sugarloaf Ridge State Park, Northern California
The wild twin doesn’t fit neatly into our lives. It’s the unruined part of ourselves that refuses to be tamed by societal expectations. To court the wild twin is to step into mystery, into the part of life that cannot be controlled or fully understood.
– Martin Shaw
Join us for a contemplative day walk in wild nature that is shaped and inspired by Martin Shaw’s book, Courting The Wild Twin.
Entering into wilderness, we have an opportunity to reconnect with a vital part of ourselves that has not been tamed by society, and has not been conditioned to “be good”. Inside each of us is a wild twin, calling to us to remember what we have disowned for the sake of belonging. On this day walk, we invite you to explore your authenticity and sense of aliveness, away from the constraints of the civilized world.
This will be an opportunity to reflect on the untamed parts of yourself that you might have forgotten, exiled, or left behind. We will be relating with the land as a storyteller and teacher, who might help you locate your wild twin, inspiring you to court it back home to your heart with authenticity and wholeness.
Contact Info
For more information, contact me at: reetrannik@gmail.com with the subject as “The Wild Twin”
