…because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. Henry David Thoreau, Walden.
I spread a sheet on the ground and set up my chair in a eucalyptus grove overlooking Lake Chabot. I sat in that chair from 12:30pm yesterday to 11:00am today, not quite 24 hours. It was cold and foggy most of the day, and very cold last night. Thank goodness for my mummy bag with hood, which kept me warm enough.
I drank water and listened to the rumblings of my empty tummy. Thoughts were thought and visions beheld, although not of the fantastical burning bush sort. The sound of eucalyptus bark peeling from trees was like a chorus of creeky doors opening and closing, inviting me over and over again to wake up. And the leaves fluttered all night like little birds over my head. After dark, a skunk and I were mutually alarmed by the presence of the other, but after a few seconds of nervous staring, we parted ways (the skunk turned and ran off) neither the worse for the encounter.
That’s all I’m prepared to say right now. The deeper experience feels too raw and precious to share publicly… at least for a while. Here are a few more pictures. Yes, I brought my camera, but it spent most of its time in my backpack.
The view from my chair:
Early Tuesday morning:
Lake Chabot from the bench where I sat and ate my lunch Tuesday after fasting for a full day. The best PB&J ever!
