As a writer based in the world’s most populous urban conurbation, I sometimes find my clarity of thought overwhelmed by a variety of superfluous sensory stimuli that pollute both the environment and my mind. Fortunately, Tokyo provides easy access to some fantastic national parks and natural habitats that serve as refuges from the chaotic miasma. It is to these places that I regularly try to escape, not only for a quick fix of adventure but also to refocus and seek out moments of balance, comprehension and insight.
I think that searching for solitude and establishing stillness in our always-on-call modern world helps us cast aside things that hold us back from developing to our full potential. When we leave distractions behind to be alone in nature, it’s easier to cut through the reduced layers of noise and see things as they really are. Although I don’t know how the metaphysical mechanics of the process work, I’m certain that the combination of quietness and inspirational scenery gives our thoughts free rein to wander away on their own adventures, which often leads to interesting mental observations and discoveries.
On a recent hike up a mountain called Daibosatsurei in the Chichibu-Tama-Kai National Park, I experienced three moments in time that I can only describe as magical. I was able to capture their images, which I will share here. The first presented itself as I was walking along the ridgeline that leads to the peak’s 2,000-metre summit. I gazed out to see Mount Fuji adorned with a crown in the distance. From the base of its dark outline, a sea of clouds seemed to roll towards me like white-crested ocean waves, until they parted in just the right spot to reveal a placid cerulean blue lake. I took a photo, then continued on my way. As I entered the next section of tree cover, I turned around to get a final glimpse, but it was too late—the clouds had already converged over the lake.
As I hiked further through the woodland, it wasn’t long before I had my second memorable encounter. From off to my right, I heard a leafy rustling—more animal than human. As the mountains of Japan’s largest island of Honshu are home to several dangerous mammals, including bears and boars, one has to be wary on trails, and with that in mind, I started to feel a bit apprehensive as the sounds got louder. Suddenly, a deer darted out from behind a tree and froze. Due to their timid dispositions, they usually take flight as soon as they get wind of an approaching hiker, but that deer didn’t move an inch. Instead, it looked straight at me and let me get close enough to take the photo above. As soon as I had taken the shot, it ran back into the forest and disappeared.
During my descent a few hours later, I saw a natural phenomenon of such beauty that it caused me to stop as dead in my tracks as the deer had. At that instant, the trees were filtering the setting sun’s rays through isolated pockets of misty vapour that had gathered in the forest. The effect was breathtaking; I can’t recall ever having seen such an artistic display of natural light anywhere else. After I had taken a snapshot, I noticed another hiker approaching and was keen to share the sight with him, but by the time he got to my position, the conditions had changed. Once again, the magical moment was over.
After experiencing three such unlikely and unique fleeting moments during a short six-hour hike, I couldn’t help feeling that there might be some reason behind (or meaning to) them, but I wasn’t able to get a firm enough grasp of either. As is my tendency when walking in nature, I let my mind wander. . . . Were they given to me as a reward for getting off my backside and embarking on an adventure? Were they offered as subject matter for my writing? Perhaps they constitute something bigger and more profound—signposts leading me onwards, towards a destination at which I have yet to arrive. Maybe it was just coincidence. . . . Maybe not.
Despite not being able to arrive at a conclusive answer, I think that the universe does communicate with us in certain ways—constantly trying to whisper secrets in our ears, lending us support along whatever path we may be diligently walking. Making progress requires action and effort on our part, but to even notice some of these magical moments, we must be able to be quiet—we need to stop, listen and observe. For me, escaping the daily routine and venturing into nature makes that easier to do. Other people might perceive messages elsewhere: in the petals of a flower, between the pages of a book or in the mirth lines of a smile. I suppose the most important thing is figuring out what they mean to us.
A Note on the Images:
The photographs featured in this piece were all taken by Philip S. Kay.
Escape & Adventure 