Where the Woods Smile Back

Dear Soulwalker,

Yesterday I sat with myself in a fog. The weight of the day pressed in before I even began. I thought of Ram Dass and the enlightened teachers who seemed to have had endless hours to meditate, write, or simply be. Meanwhile, my time feels so little. Work eats it. Family pulls at it. Since the ecstasy of awakening fell away, I wake up like I was hit in the head.

What I long for is silence. Hours to paint, to wander, to let beauty pour into me the way it once did. Sometimes a cruel thought creeps in: maybe I was meant for solitude. Maybe I was meant to be only an artist.

And then, in the middle of that despair, a myth rose up in me: Sisyphus. The stone rolled uphill, only to tumble down again. I realized that what I grieve most in that fall is my creative self. The childlike me who wandered alone, camera in hand, who painted until the day dissolved. She had whole hours. She lived free. Now my time belongs to everyone else.

But I also heard Camus whisper: “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” Maybe the fall isn’t betrayal. Maybe the climb itself is shaping me, carving me toward strength.

So last night I made a small decision. I set out my running shoes and promised myself: tomorrow, I will slip into the woods alone. Not for hours. Just for one climb. Just to see if beauty might still meet me.

The Walk

This morning I kept that promise. I ran to the park nearby. The air was cool, the woods still. I looked around with no agenda, just the hope of stumbling into wonder.

And then I saw it: a stone on the forest floor, decorated with tiny rocks for eyes and a stick for a smile. It looked right at me. I laughed out loud.

In that moment I felt it clear as day: the universe has my back. The stone was not just stone. It was encouragement. Proof that when you move toward beauty, beauty moves toward you. Proof that when you make even a small decision in service of your soul, the world conspires to meet you there.

The Ritual of the Small Ascent

Here’s the practice I’ll carry from this:

1. The Night Before
   Prepare one small thing for tomorrow’s climb: shoes by the door, journal waiting, a note that says “I am going to meet beauty alone.”

2. The Morning
   Step outside, even if only for twenty minutes. Walk or run until your breath finds rhythm. Look around with the eyes of your child-self, the one who once wandered freely.

3. The Encounter
   When you see something that sparks (light on a leaf, a crow in the branches, a smiling stone) stop. Let it be your sign. Whisper a word that names it. That word is your companion for the day.

4. The Return
   Back home, write three quick lines:

   • Image: what you saw

   • Body: how it felt

   • Message: the whisper you took home with you

The hill is always there. The stone always slips. But when you take even one step toward beauty, the universe responds. Do not underestimate these small decisions. Go looking, and miracles will meet you on the path.