Lost in the Forest

This is a self-reflective piece that I wrote recently.  It looks back to a period of my life when I lived in a town in the Ruhr Valley, Germany.

LOST IN THE FOREST

I lived in a coal city where derricks and pit heads dotted the landscape.  I worked in that place, among the dirt, dark and fog.  Then there were the in-between places, those green spaces that stood out, where you could walk and experience peace and fresh air.

I liked trees best and loved the forest that curled around the city like a protective hug.  The forest went on for miles and miles.  Tens of miles.  It was dark, wet, cold and the trees were tall and the trunks huge, the thick dark brown edifices of Nature towering into the green carpet above, the yellow and blue glistening and reflecting through, blinding me as I stared up at it.

One day I decided that I would be lost in the forest.  Not lost as in not knowing the way or where I am, but lost as in not knowing the way I want to go or where I want to be.  This wasn’t anything pretentious.  I wasn’t a seeker searching for The Way.

But I was lost.  Or I wanted to escape.  What did I want to escape?  Life, the world.  To where I wanted to be.  ‘Lost’ would be how they defined my situation, but I would be found.

I reached a muddy knoll a few feet into the forest and I turned back towards civilization and thought about going back.  I saw the red slate roofs, the industry, the cars, the tiny figures moving around.  I did not want to return to that world.  I wanted to find my own world, where I would be home.