Aborigen

It was too short a time, camping in the woods from 3:30 p.m. Saturday to 12:30 p.m. Sunday. Even though I demonstrated I can set up a tent in 10 minutes and unpack my entire camp in another 10 minutes, there was still the matter of waiting for firewood to be open for sale. And how do you balance your experiences against the time it takes to write them down? And then there’s that camper with the barky dog and little boy who can only communicate in screeches.

To pack for one person, for nearly 24 hours, is an illuminating experience. It’s different, when you’re factoring one other person or a group of friends. When you’re going out on your own, you look at your equipment more critically. I’ll bring my own cutting board (good); I only need the medium skillet (bad); the water tank should last me the weekend (good); it’s just one night, I can use the old air mattress (bad). You take grocery shopping much, much more seriously, even if you have none of the food allergies your wife endures. But I won’t go into the details of shopping, much as I’d like to.

Bivouac and Ritual

I set up the camp and started playing Wardruna, which totally changes everything. It’s very important you start the fire; it’s very important you slice the vegetables and prep the meat; everyone around you knows there is no reason why they have to interrupt and introduce themselves. As much as I love my wife, not least because she supports me when I’m being ridiculous like this, it was refreshing to set up the bivouac by myself, fend for myself, and entertain myself.

Instead, TRĒ House uses a “proprietary nootropic blend” which feels like a nice buzz but without the nausea of the heavy carb load of alcohol. I took three and didn’t feel anything. I took a fourth and a fifth and decided this was useless. Not only that, but I’d mixed a large cocktail of vodka and Squirt with fresh lime juice, but I drank the whole thing and could not detect any effects from the booze. This was the only disappointment of the weekend: I thought I was going on a vision-quest, but instead I merely got my slant on.

Regardless, I saw everything else through. I had written four pages of prayers and meditations, and I practiced these all in good faith. I was having trouble memorizing the prayers to the Giantess, until I incorporated gestures, and this became a ritual I performed around the fire. Yes, the other camps couldn’t see me well enough to discern what I was doing (and if they could, fuck them, they should learn how to calm their damn dog down), so I stomped around the fire reciting—as much to myself as to the greater cosmos—the prepared prayers. When the nearly full moon broke through the trees, I chanted to it; when I brewed coffee the next morning, I chanted to the sunrise. I inhaled deeply, taking in the pine and petrichor into myself as the breath of the Giantess; I exhaled forcefully into the fire, expelling my fears (“this was stupid, this was a waste of time, they’re all going to laugh at me”) and blew the flames into a small conflagration.

I switched to noise-canceling, over-ear headphones and played Heilung, angrier and more performative, but still in keeping with the weekend. Through meditation I invoked the Muse archetype, staring into the treetops and, unfortunately, cloud cover blocking the stars, except once in a while a little white dot would flash in a dark patch and smile at me.

Opening Myself to the Greater

Despite certain details of the evening not living up to my imagination, I did meet the Muse giantess archetype. We did speak, briefly.

I meditated to affirm my connection with the wyrd, and I opened myself to the unknown and the strange. The other techniques I’d written down didn’t seem to apply to this weekend, so I focused on these two, switching off between meditation and just staring into the fire or the trees. It’s important to learn how to shut down and empty your mind, restrain it from wandering down tangents. Having a nice fire in front of you is very useful for this. This weekend, the wood they’d sourced was aromatic, so it was lovely to throw another log on. Fire and embers are interesting enough that even when you have the instinct to grab your phone, you can override it. You reach for that stupid rectangle made of exploited child labor in hazardous conditions, in order to read timelines of hateful, fearful, uninformed people, but there’s something about the fire that reminds you to quiet down for a few minutes, be here, be present. Plus, a location as remote as a state park will devour your data.

When you’re not on your computer and living under artificial light, the day ends much sooner. I wondered if it was bedtime, but it was only 8 p.m., so I forced myself to clear my head and stare into the fire, rebuilding it, improving its ventilation. As a grilling enthusiast, I’ve learned how to blow into a fire to expand and intensify it, rather than blowing it out. That was how I cast the criticism from my body, making the fire explode with the negative thoughts, incinerating them.

Most people don’t know about the stalkers I attracted during Size Riot, a group of petty little trolls who screenshot my tweets to laugh about them, who wrote in to any poll to harass and insult me, or the (implausible) death threat I received. That was, in part, my payment for providing something positive to the Size community. That was before the Tumblr refugees showed up, told me how to run my contest, then attempted to blackball me from my own community, even after I’d capitulated to their demands. As frustrating as that was, part of the hurt comes from my friends who watched this happening, didn’t stand with me, and continue to support those creators.

Undersquid and JDO stood up for me. For this and other reasons, I will never forget them. I value loyalty in friendship.

The critics’ voices were cast into the fire. Their words went up like orange pine needles, their spite flared briefly like the paper towel used to wipe up bacon grease. I was on this trip, not them. The Muse parted the treetops to greet me, not them.

I had a mission. I had things I needed to accomplish, and I did. I rarely perform tarot for myself, but I did a terse three-card spread, and it sounded right for this weekend. Even if everything didn’t go the way I’d envisioned—my fault for harboring preconceived notions—I now have a clear path forward.

Next Steps

Like I tell beginning writers, nothing is a mistake if you learn from it. I brought too-small of an iron skillet, which is great for portion control but bad for huge strips of bacon. My old air mattress finally ruptured, but I discovered I can sleep on the ground comfortably. I didn’t have any meaningful dreams, my last recourse of the night, but I did some useful journaling during the evening and reflecting the next day. Yoga nidra, releasing trapped emotions, journaling, meditation, reconnecting with nature: all of these were as important and useful as the devotionals I performed. And like my wife says, it takes time: “You sent a letter out into the universe. The Giantess will respond, eventually. It’s not like making a phone call and they pick up.”

It’s a process and I’ve started it. Now I have to pursue and maintain it, and something amazing will happen.