The Little Teacher
A story from the archives of when I used to work as a wilderness therapy guide, the wisdom teachings of a little teacher and the opportunity to surrender to the compassionate benevolent heart
From the archives August 25, 2021
I just threw on more logs to build up the fire and momentarily woke up Sunflower Bear to grab his pen so I could write to you.
I have been in the backcountry for eight days now and I’m pulling a double shift meaning I’m spending another eight days out here rolling in the dirt.
Becoming one with the soil.
In fact, if you take a look at my fingers you can see the dirt embedded into the swirls of my finger print clearly; my ecological identity becoming more and more prevalent.
My first week was challenging to say the least. I was wind walker and was asked to pull a kid from his group to go on a walk about (solo wandering) with another TrailWalker. The kid was pulled because he is an agitator of sorts, he liked to disrupt and create disorder within the group. He is very cultured and very well traveled, knows three languages, and is very intelligent but quite blatantly, is a machista and lacks the emotional intelligence and wisdom to have certain conversations without spiraling into a temper tantrum.
He is a difficult teacher. All YoungWalkers and SinaguaWalkers are my teachers. They all have something important to offer that can contribute towards the expansion of my consciousness. I have to pay careful attention however because these lessons don’t come in a scholarly format or in an obvious and direct manner. It’s more like I have to check in with myself and ponder, “what is this human trying to teach me by behaving in this way or by saying this kind of stuff?” usually it all boils down to having more patience and compassion.
So, this kid, he is my teacher.
We were hiking to Turkey Springs that week. It was me, my little teacher, and TrailWalker Dan (who is one of my favorite TrailWalkers). We had to climb up a ridge about 200ft higher in elevation and take shade underneath the Juniper trees halfway up the mountain because the heat had increased and arrived above the 90 F°, making it a threat upon our fragile bodies to continue. We harvested some wood from a Juniper tree, worked on carving some spoons and sipped some tang while we waited for the sun to set a little and for the temperature to drop.
When our time pieces showed it was 4:00 pm we decided it was cool and safe enough to carry on, so we got our packs on and continued on trekking to keep making our way to find water.
Dan was leading the hike that day. He took us up the side of the mountain, onto a rocky road that spiraled upwards, then we crossed a highway (we made no mention of such thing so that our little teacher wouldn’t get any ideas of running) and then we found ourselves back in the ponderosa pine forest. The terrain was covered in pine trees, junipers and mullein stalks. It reminded me of the forest that skirts around my cabin home back in Prescott; giving me a sense of belonging and longing.
The sun was peeking through the trees and caressed us with her gentle glow. Kissing everything with her golden light.
As we made our way through the ponderosa pine forest, our little teacher went on stressing about whether or not we were going to make it to our final destination, completely oblivious of the beauty and magic that enveloped us.
Little Teacher Awakening: The magic of the wilderness is only accessible to those who are wise enough to become quiet and open in order to truly bear witness to its subtle majesty.
Nature Practice: Next time you go out for a walk on the trail or somewhere out in nature try setting the intention to walk in silence even if you’re hiking with friends; avoid talking or playing music. This will allow you to attune to the song of the land and invite you to tune into your sensory awareness perhaps even helping you to connect more genuinely with your natural surrounding and more than human world.
He worried about whether or not we were going to make it to “Final D” (final destination), see his shadow (therapist) and get letters from his parents. We tried our best to console and reassure him that we were indeed making good time. And tried reminding him of the cliché and yet powerful message: “it’s about the journey - not the destination.” We also tried preaching what late Master Ram Dass taught us about the power of presence, but our little teacher wouldn’t buy into any of it and so on he went spiraling deeper into fear and anxiety.
After hiking for about 5 hours - with many breaks in between - we finally found a creek that would provide us with enough water necessary to cook, hydrate ourselves and utilize to no-trace the fire we would later on build.
We set up camp 200 ft from the creek, among the pines.
“This is home for the night” Dan told us.
And so, we peeled off our packs and dropped ourselves on top of them.
Big exhale.
My shoulders ached from the unbearable weight of the pack. I closed my eyes and allowed my body to melt onto the earth.
ok but don’t relax too much, the sun’s about to set and we still have to gather firewood, I thought to myself.
I got up and started gathering fallen branches so we could have a fire.
Dan asked the little teacher how competent he felt with making fire.
“Not very competent. Usually the other boys make fire for the group” he said.
“Don’t worry, we’ll help you!” Dan said, quite enthusiastically as he tends to be.
The little teacher got out the primitive fire set he had made. He only had a fire board, a short spindle and a bow.
He was missing a socket and a coal catch. Dan quickly carved a socket for him out of a branch from a Juniper tree and found a piece of pine bark to act as a coal catch.
The little teacher got into posture and attempted to bust a coal by creating fast friction with his bow- repeatedly pulling it backwards and forwards upon the fire board.
The spindle went flying onto the ground and the little teacher got frustrated and bursted into a firework of anger and tears. He ran over to his sleeping bag to collapse and drown into an ocean of anxiety.
“I can’t! I can’t do this!”
“You can do this! Don’t say that you can’t, that’s a self limiting belief; your outlook and attitude will determine whether you succeed or not” I told him “take a break, breathe, drink some water and try again.”
“NO! I can’t!” The little teacher kept crying.
“Would you like to meditate?”
“No!”
I ignored the little teacher and took out my small Tibetan singing bowl. As the soothing frequencies permeated the air I guided him through some breath-work and a meditation to regulate his nervous system. Even though he was covering his face with his arms, I could see his chest rising when I would ask him to inhale and his chest falling when I would guide him to exhale. He’s listening, this could actually work, I thought.
In just a few minutes the tears and weeping ceased and the little teacher, with a much calmer demeanor, confessed he felt better and asked if he could try again in the morning. To which we happily obliged.
That night we did not have the presence of fire to bring us a sense of comfort and ease. We were not able to cook a warm meal after spending five hours hiking and making our way to that spot. Instead, we got into our sleeping bags and ate dehydrated beans out of a ziplock bag.
Ah, there’s nothing like a little discomfort to teach you humility.
Suffering is a part of being human. It is a natural part of life. We have evolved and amidst our so call evolution have built walls around us to prevent us from feeling that natural sense of discomfort or suffering. But suffering itself has a lot of medicine to offer.
Existentialist and psychologist Viktor Frankl once said, that which is to give light must endure burning.
If we are to become strong, wise, brave, and embody the true essence of beauty we must endure suffering and allow it to teach & guide us.
To suffer and feel discomfort is inherent in life, however depending on how you choose to respond to such circumstance you can either increase your own personal suffering or allow it to subside. Your outlook will affect your outcome.
This is probably the most powerful teaching I have learned while living in the woods for a year and a half now. It has allowed me to develop a newfound appreciation for life and discover the strength and resilience of my body & soul. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross put it quite nicely, she said:
“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”
The next morning when the sun rose from beyond the pines we wiggled out of our warm cocoons to start our day. The little teacher begrudgingly tried to make fire and with a bit of our help was successful. He did not have a tinder bundle to nestle the little coal he had just pumped out with his fire set so we had to scramble to gather dry pine needles and the old man’s beard that lived amongst the lichen.
Luckily, with the collaboration and alchemy of all beings present we were able to bring fire to life. My heart whispered a gratitude prayer:
thank you to the ponderosa pine trees for your generous offering of pine needles and downed limbs for us to make kindling.
thank you to the oxygen that moves through our lungs for allowing us to blow the tiny coal to flame.
thank you to the dried old man’s beard for catching the coal sparks as we were blowing and for being a conduit for flame to manifest.
thank you to the ground for holding space as we come together to co-create a fire in order to nourish and warm ourselves.
We cooked rice and lentils out of our stainless steel cups over the coals and celebrated the little teacher for being successful in making fire. He seemed really proud and pleased with himself. A miracle.
After breakfast, we drowned and stirred the fire, packed up our things and started our trek heading south east towards turkey creek.
I was leading the hike that day. Even though I checked my compass to make sure I was heading south east, the lay of the land and my tired feet wanted to guide me down the mountain which led us to have to circle back around and up the mountain once more. My little teacher noticed.
“You’re taking us around in circles?! in CIRCLES!! This is a waste of time! We’re never going to make it to Final D! Dan! You should lead the hike!”
I felt so humiliated. I could feel my heart wanted to turn against him. But then I thought about all the times I had been in his position.
I thought about the times I had been him.
I recognized that darkness. A similar energy to when I was terrible to my parents or my siblings as a hormonal teenager.
A patient voice fluttered within me and told me to breathe deeply and to surrender to love and compassion, after all he’s just a kid. After all, we’re just humans. I remembered that my little teacher is another version of my consciousness disguised in another body and ego. I remembered that form creates the illusion of separation, I remembered true compassion arises out of unity.
“I am sorry guys. I promise we’re still making good time” I said to my band.
“Hey, sometimes we make mistakes. TrailWalkers are human too. And sometimes it’s good medicine for us to have to go up those mountains again even though we think it’s unnecessary.” Dan told our little teacher.
We kept hiking on through a labyrinth of ponderosa pine trees for hours. We started to descend once we hit a dry creek bed that rambled like veins through the mountain. We climbed down rugged boulders, walked over slate rocks and balanced on stones in search of water as we entered the canyon.
After trekking down for a couple hours we stumbled upon some pockets of water that were scattered here and there, yet enough to fill a couple canteens. I asked the little teacher if he could fill up (a big part of our job as TrailWalkers or wilderness therapy guides is to get the clients to stay hydrated as it can prevent many serious ailments) -to which he rebelled and yelled “STOP! STOP! STOP! NO, OK?!”
I just looked at Dan hoping that he would read my mind and get a sense for my internal climate. Thankfully Dan is attuned in that way somehow and so he encouraged the little teacher to fill up and drink water to which he obliged.
We hiked on. I thought about how our society has conditioned people to be more prone to listening to male authority figures rather than female authority figures.
I thought about no matter how hard I worked to be really good at my job I would still not receive as much praise as my male counterparts.
I thought about the times my partner introduced me to his family members and when the topic of Anasazi would come up they would then ask, “and what about you Reet? What do you do?” As if I wasn’t the one that had brought my boyfriend to come work here in the first place. As if I wasn’t capable enough to do this work.
I do not take it personally. But I do take notes. On what our patriarchal society indoctrinates.
The canyon walls grew higher and higher and the creek grew more narrow having us walk in a single file. The bright green lichen sprawled over the red canyon walls and the sun escaped us from beyond the Pines. Multiple boulders balanced on top of each other over the ridge as grandfathers watching over us.
At twilight we found abundant water flowing through the canyon and yet no good place to lay our heads. The land rose at a 40° from both sides of the flowing creek.
Rats.
“Let’s keep going” our little teacher ordered.
“We can’t - it’s a boundary to hike at night.”
“Did we do good today? Are we going to make it to final D?”
“Yes. We did really good today this is farther than where we wanted to be.”
“We’re not going to make it. I know we’re not going to make it. You’re lying!”
We tried to console our little teacher and assured him we had no reason to lie to him. Once he had settled down we scaled up the side of the mountain to find a flattish area to lay our bodies to rest.
I found a (more or less) flat space behind a fallen tree. I thought the tree would act as the perfect barrier so I wouldn’t roll off the side of the mountain if I moved in my sleep. I uncovered some of the rocks underneath the soil, moved some twigs, ruffled some leaves and did my best to fluff up the dirt to make an earth bed for me to lay upon.
Our little teacher took out his fire set and attempted to make fire. No luck. Oh well, another night of going to bed early and eating un-cooked cold food out of a ziplock bag.
I had the worst night of rest that night. Sleeping at an angle on the side of a steep mountain, rocks poking at my hip, the cold seeping through my bones. Another opportunity to practice humility. Another opportunity to count my blessings and practice gratitude, I thought.
At least we have flowing water to drink from.
At least I have these two feet and strong legs to carry me.
At least the trees around me provide me with oxygen in copious amounts for me to breathe for an entire lifetime and when I exhale they continue recycling that into more oxygen.
After I finished showering myself in gratitude and accessing the abundance that exists around and within me I felt strong enough to get out of my sleeping bag.
It was still dark. It must’ve been around five in the morning, but the light of the full moon was bright enough to guide my steps. I noticed the flickering of our ally called fire and Dan standing over it, hypnotized by its essence.
I walked over to him. “Ah, fire” I said, as I extended my hands to openly receive ki’s warmth.
“Yes, I figured we could offer the gift of fire to our little teacher since we haven’t been able to get a warm meal the last couple nights” Dan said.
When our little teacher woke up and saw the fire he happily exclaimed “Fire! Fire!” and ran over with his food bag.
“Who busted?!” He eagerly asked.
“I did” Dan expressed.
“Oh, Dan! Thank you! Thank you!” The little teacher hugged Dan’s head and Dan laughed with his epic laugh and patted his elbow.
We cooked around the fire and enjoyed ourselves by engaging in conversation as our little teacher found himself in good spirits.
With our bellies full we packed up our things, thanked the land for letting us sleep on it and continued hiking on.
We serpentined our way out of the canyon and found ourselves climbing a mountain and trying to hug it’s ridge to maintain elevation.
Something about how I tied my pack that morning was doing terrible things to my back. There was something poking my lower back and all of the weight seemed to fall on my hips creating a sensation as if I was giving birth out of my back. I asked the boys for a break.
As we were catching up with our breaths and sitting underneath the shade our little teacher expressed, “Hey, Dan I’m sorry for my behavior for the past couple of days…”
Dan acted surprised, “why are you apologizing to me? If anything you should be apologizing to Reet. You have been nothing but disrespectful to her all week.”
Silence.
I laughed on the inside. I was kinda puzzled and kinda amused. My little teacher kept surprising me. I kept waiting for the apology to be redirected to me for the entire hike. It did not come. When we got to our final destination it still did not come.
Little Teacher Awakening: some people will be incapable of apologizing or taking accountability for their wrong doings. Do not take it personally, this is a reflection of their inability to practice humility and the inner work they still have yet to do. Forgive them nonetheless because the resentment can ferment and rotten your spirit. If you can’t forgive them try forgiving their spirit from your soul versus from your ego or personality.
Forgiveness Practice: Repeat to yourself, “From the place within me in which the universe dwells I forgive the space within you in which the universe dwells”
Feel free to replace “universe” for the word: God, Spirit, light, or whatever resonates with your spiritual practice.
Journal prompts:
A. Who do I need to forgive so I can feel lighter as I walk upon the earth?
Write a letter to that person or to a past version of yourself (if in this case the person who you need to forgive is yourself) you can bury the letter for our earth mother to compost -or- you may burn it so the smoke transmutes it.
B. Write a letter to Mother Earth asking for forgiveness for all humans have done unconsciously to the land, animals and more-than-human world in general. Read the letter to a tree, creek or animal and notice what feelings arise afterwards. If grief arises ponder upon how this might reflect how deeply you feel for Mother Nature- go back to gratitude: remember you are a conscious and good animal who cares and loves the world. If passion arises: how can you channel this energy to help spread more awareness -or- what can you create to express such passion?
That week I found myself having to constantly surrender to imperfection.
To the discomfort and unpleasantness.
I found myself pondering how my little teacher subconsciously created many opportunities for me to grow; to bring into awareness the many sensations I was feeling without feeling seduced by impulsive anger or reactivity or without turning my heart against him. After all, how would that serve him? How would I be able to invite him to walk forward if my heart was still trapped in the shadows of resentment?
My week with the little teacher helped shed light upon my shadow and the parts of myself I still had to work on. Had our souls conspired to meet to catalyze growth and expansion of awareness? What if those people that bring us feelings of aversion or anger is an invitation to surrender deeper into love and widen our circle of compassion?
I’m sure if we all sat with our aversions and breathed more deeply into those uncomfortable moments there would be a lot more room for us to self-reflect and self-soothe. It probably won’t fix the problem itself but will allow for the opportunity for us to learn how to be calm and find our inner peace during stormy unpleasant situations.
I hope that you can find it in yourself to breathe through those moments of discomfort and invite peace within.
sending love and light your way as you dance through your own storms.
with gratitude,
Reet
