Inception:

Butts got wet. In the first class, our butts got wet, which means we were experiencing evaporative heat loss--not ok. The overall tenor of the class was a sort of nervous awe combined with utter nostalgic comfort. For me especially, I was at home where we plunked twentyish butts in the flat bog down from the big tree. The nest-building birds under the tangled mass of bushes behind us bounced and fluttered in mud I crawled through one Serendipity with a dozen compatriots; the tire swing across the creek was a familiar resting place for my butt--safely a meter from the cold ground. A few years ago a friend and I were gazing across a deep section of woods, and I percieved three bright verticle sticks that appeared to be floating. Investigating the abberant form, we discovered a hand-carved xylophone-like instrument, left for nature spirits and itinerate woods adventurers like us. Years later, on that spot, I climbed a grape vine all the way up to the high-reaching beach branch it clung to, and down the beach herself. Another year later I strung the tire swing with a friend on a magical Spring afternoon where clouds and sun comingle into indistinguishable each-otherness.

The Guilford woods have always called me into them, Beech and Cedar and Sweet Gum fluctuating toward me from their common ground up through their uncountable leaves, beckoning me home into their Gian womb. The thoughts of thousands of thinkers have left their mark on these trees and rocks; and these loves and dreams and freedoms have reverberated backward and forward through time to just touch on every single leaf and breath and flicker within their whispering thunder, lightly touching.

What a crunchy class! I see the direction here. We're bound for real experience--to shake out the encrusted patterns of blindness and enclosure we build for ourselves and escape into and try to escape from on midnight journeys and frantic cigatette-flicking confessions. This will put our feet solidly on the ground. The focus on embodiment is evident from the start. We need to learn to stay alive, to protect our bodies in this cornucopia of endless inspiration we so brazenly distinguish as outdoors. This class takes me back to the Catoctin mountains, singing songs with Quaker weirdos and fully expressing and experiencing each other, nature-intoxicated and vibrantly alive. No fucking around; this is going to be awesome. Period.