'Well-being of mind is like a mountain lake without ripples. When the lake has no ripples, everything in the lake can be seen. When the water is all churned up, nothing can be seen.'
~ Pema Chödrön
As I walk along the dusty track, I pass by many of the wicked and wild trees that have been decorating this small corner of the Gwydir Forest for a century or more. There are a handful of oaks but the majority of them here are silver birch trees that love these damp upland moorland environments. I’m just a tiny speck of dust beneath most of the trees, and, despite my hair being a little thinner in some places than it once was, one glance at their weathering bark makes me appreciate my youth. The young should respect their elders, so I pause for a moment to think about how little I know, and how much I still have yet to learn from them.
Just a few miles walk along the winding track and I’ll be at my destination; a small and remote lake that is unknown to most people. It is only my second visit to this part of Eryri/ Snowdonia National Park, yet it already seems so familiar to me. I recognise many of the trees as I pass and offer each of them the softest of ‘good morning’s’.
A few weeks prior to this morning, I took a spontaneous walk on a beautiful summers’ day along yet another one of the national park’s hidden footpaths. The path carried me on an unforgettable adventure to this hidden paradise, guarded by towering, ancient beeches, with Moel Siabod watching over in the background. I had no idea what was waiting for me around each corner that day; my feelings of curiosity reminded me of what it was like to be a child once again. As I stepped foot around the final corner, I was awe-struck by the beauty of my new surroundings. That initial discovery of the lake was a special moment. I stood and pondered the scene below for an hour and felt a sense of connection to my home that I don’t remember experiencing before, and as time passes, the memories become even fonder. This photograph was my reward for shaking the dust from my hiking boots, packing up a day rucksack and finding the courage to walk through the door and out into the unknown.
‘Summer Harmony’ - A photograph by Brad Carr.
Today, I have a much clearer picture of what is waiting for me, although some of the leaves are looking a little more golden in comparison, and the wet soil is filling my nostrils with rich scents after some recent rainfall. The sight of the bright afternoon sun has been replaced by a blanket of high, grey clouds that are releasing a touch of light drizzle for the ground this morning, and I can hear a very soft pitter pattering of rain on the leaves in the canopy to the left of me. On the weather forecast last night, I could see predictions of patchy fog in parts of the Gwydir forest throughout the morning, and although I have been clear of it so far, I live in hope that the light easterly winds might carry some over the mountain so that it can thread itself between the silver birch trees and warm the sleeping lake like a blanket.
The world feels calm this morning, and that, for me, is perfection. It is the stillness that I seek. The only kind that can be found out here in these wild places; a far cry from where I started out in life when I would lie awake at night trying to silence noises that no child should have to endure. Out here, silence is plentiful, and I forget that the ‘real world’ exists for a moment. With each step that I take along the track, I leave one of my worries behind and it dissipates into the fog that seems to have gathered out of nowhere. It looks like I have been granted my wish. I’m filled with the ultimate joy and begin to imagine what photographs might be waiting for me. I approach the waters and feel my heart rate beginning to slow. I come into the present. For the first time in a long time, I feel like myself. I am home.
‘Silent Waters’ - A photograph by Brad Carr
When all is calm in my surroundings, I can hear my truest self. I know that the voice I need to listen to is the one that is buried deep inside, behind societies constructs, and limiting beliefs that have been passed on to me through generations and by my peers. When I am out here, in the wild places, beside Eryri’s tranquil lakes, beneath majestic mountains, with the branches of the pirouetting silver birch trees wrapping themselves around my weary body, my spirit feels a certain peace and the voice that I seek is free to speak.
Whenever I am beside silent waters like this, I always notice that first breath of air, filling my lungs and reinvigorating me. Out here, it becomes so much clearer to me how much of a necessity natures’ therapy is. Only when I come out and sense the stillness of these waters do I realise that I haven’t been myself for so long. My thoughts become lighter, my body is refreshed, and my breathing becomes so much clearer. My anxieties settle and all of my worries begin to disappear. I feel no fear. I am able to think, ‘so this is how it really feels to be a human being.’ We all belong out here in these wild places, and we need to make a commitment to seek them out more often for times of respite.
Before humans decided to build four walls around themselves and call it a home, our ancestors might have woken up beneath these silver birch trees every morning. Maybe they were able to bathe in the waters when they woke; to nourish their souls and cleanse their minds. They may have even gathered logs from a dying tree to stoke their fire, fished the water and cooked the catch of the day, before dancing together, socialising and staring out into the starry sky to dream and tell stories of adventure to their families. They certainly wouldn’t have been refreshing their social media feeds in isolation to subconsciously compare their lives with a family that lives half way around the world.
We are incredibly disconnected from nature in this modern, ever-increasing digital world. Far too many people would rather sit and watch others do the exploring for them whilst they hide away in the comfort and safety of their bedrooms. To experience these moments through a screen, is not enough. It is not the same as being out there in person and in spirit. To go on a journey into the unknown, to forget who we think we are for a day, to reflect, to give ourselves the space and opportunity to become something new; to build new neural pathways in our brain, there really is no substitute.
Mother Nature has the power to heal us in ways that are unimaginable and incomprehensible. What she has done for me over the last few years, I could spend a lifetime trying to explain. My wounds ran deep until she gently puts her arms around me and led me to her still waters. Here, I have found space to reflect upon my life. untangle some of the knots inside of my mind, make sense of who I am, and learn how to read the map that points the way towards where I am going. It is my hope that the photographs and stories that I share can inspire others to go out in search of themselves, find their own sense of refuge in these all important wild places, and embark on their own journeys towards healing.