No Signal


The thinking mind is a GPS of sorts. It tells us where we are in the argument, on the highway, at the grocery store.

But it can stop working.

In the wilderness it doesn’t work.

The technology breaks down.

There are no words, no markers, no arrows, no signs, no offramps, no streets, no avenues, no destinations.

No destinations.

In the wild, there is only the smell of rain-soaked tree bark, the call of cardinals, life itself scurrying in the underbrush, soaring overhead, breathing in the leaves. The oxygen is not distinct from the dew dripping off an orchid leaf. Creek water not different from a spray of mustard-colored lichen clinging to a rock. Snake not alien from bear, from trout, from hawk, from me.

There is no signal here in the wilderness.

No reception. Zero bars.

Only breathing. Only the whole unknowable world moving in and out of my own lungs knowing itself as me

for the moment.


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© Tina Lear | Design by A Dying Art Company Ltd.

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