Remarkably Sane

“A morning mist was rising off the glassy waters, birds were chattering somewhere behind me, and in the near distance the early touches of fall color had descended on the landscape. As it had at other times over the past few days, the world felt not just still, but also remarkably sane.” Ian Aldrich: “Maine Takeaway”; New England Magazine, May/June 2021.

What a phrase! “[t]he world felt not just still, but also remarkably sane” When I first read it, I paused for what seemed like forever. “Remarkably sane”.  It does make one pause: the “sanity” of a world removed from our supposedly organized civilization is not a new concept, but against the backdrop of the past months of civilized insanity, it takes on a starker reality, a deep-in-the-bones truth that calls us to reflect on just what makes our world “sane” or not. Or even more importantly, how do we capture that sense of sanity, balance; a centering lucidity that assures us that life is good, and all is as it should be? And why would “sanity” be remarkable? Is it all that rare? Or is it simply that the author was able to connect with an inner core of sanity in a setting that stripped away the chaos, and provided only stillness, beauty, quiet?

There is something about who we are, innately, as human beings, that seeks out the splendous organization of a natural setting. For most of us (if not all), it’s not just the quiet beauty of a natural setting— a wood or forest, a garden, the top of a mountain, a quiet stream; it’s where we go to breathe, to heal, to renew. The natural is where we run to when we are feeling off-balance, when life threatens to tip us over, to overwhelm us with whatever manner of fresh hell is being served up that day, that week, that month. There is refuge there, in that still, quiet place. Yes… there we find a “sanity” we can feel, touch, breathe in.

During the pandemic, this particular area of the Shoreline experienced an unprecedented increase in the use of the forests, trails, parks, and conservation areas that are scattered throughout this area of Southeastern Connecticut, (and this was so throughout the world). Articles bemoaned the ‘hard-use’ of trails by hikers who were unfamiliar with how to best use a natural trail; some trails were closed for a time so that they could be rebuilt, refreshed and made safe in the face of incredible numbers of people who were now hiking the coastline’s paths, forests, hills, beaches. The state beaches were often closed due to capacity crowds long before noon; and forget Sundays - it was anything but quiet, peaceful, sane. A recent article in a local journal stated that there was a doubling of people taking to boats on Long Island Sound’s waterways last year, causing their own unique brand of traffic jams and shortages. City dwellers from all over the East Coast arrived to ride out the Covid-tide in what the Shoreline had to offer, seeking peace and quiet. Sanity.

Most of us, I think, have had at least one encounter with nature that left us breathless and wanting more. A sense of awe when standing on a mountaintop, the grueling climb forgotten in that first glimpse of the panorama below, heart stilled, breath held in wonder.  Or that incredible stillness of a sunrise on the beach, watching the waves in a their hypnotic dance, welcoming a new day. Or the quiet calm that permeates deep into our skin on a silent trail-hike scattered with wild flowers in the thick shade, or mushrooms on a decaying log. Or that chance glimpse of a doe with her fawn in the break of trees, a fox flashing silently by in the brush, a fish gliding playfully down a rippling stream.

And we don't forget. We remember the vision. We remember the awe, the peace, the shear contentment of those moments. We remember and desire to recapture those moments.

When life gets hard, we want to go back, to find that place again.

Throughout our lives, we are drawn to recapture that sense of stillness, especially during difficult or unbelievably busy times in our lives.  There is an intuitive, inborn knowledge within us - assuring us that walking into a wood, or garden, or stream will reset our clocks, quiet our minds, recalibrate the complex synapses in our brains. We simply know, in our gut if not in our minds, that when we need to tune the mind, heart, and soul into a harmonious whole after the cacophony of insanity, we seek that place of harmony, a quiet that is smooth, soft, shimmering. Sane.

In that place of stillness, our sanity is re-established in a renewed grounding with that Someone Who will bring us to our center again. It’s a longing as ancient as humans themselves, a soul-longing to reconnect with the One Who will help us discover - or rediscover - our true selves; Who will return us to that place of peace always intended for us from the very beginning of time.

Sanity, in the end, is not that easy to define. Certainly, I’m not talking about a medical definition or a neurological one; not a psychological or psychiatric one. Even those sciences dance around the issue of sanity. I won’t go there (and wouldn’t even if I could!) Sanity is often elusive, but as real and necessary as the air we breathe. We just need to know how, and where, to find it.

I believe, for most of us who live in the messy reality of our modern world, confronting daily the discords, disruptions, and disquiet of our lives, we need to know that there is a place where we can reconnect with our inner core, with the person we were intended to be all along. We need to know there is place of natural beauty and harmony where we can fall into the very core of who we are; a place where we can rediscover the sanity of “us” by surrounding ourselves with the sanity that always exists in a quiet wood, or stream; on a deserted beach, on a mountain top.

That is why we venture out into the wilds, the untamed, the natural, the beautiful - to find a place within ourselves that is “remarkably sane”.

Go. Find your center, find that place where you will discover your sanity. It truly is remarkable.