When Everything Rustles

 "To he who is in fear everything rustles" - Sophocles (497-406 BC)

Fight or flight? Those are the two commonly attributed responses to fear.

But there are two more: freeze and faint.

Faint? That's a big one. Have you ever felt so much fear that you lose consciousness?

Freeze is perhaps a bit more common and is the one I associate with Sophocles's quote above.

When hearing it recently, I pictured a rabbit in the woods, spooked and startled briefly by something, ears perked up tall, eyes sharp. Suddenly the entire forest is rustling. As the omniscient observer, I see there is no real threat. The rabbit is alone.

But to the rabbit, entrenched in fear. Everything could be a threat. And until every potential imaginary threat is ruled out...everything rustles.

When you encounter something scary -- in today's world perhaps it's a larger than expected energy bill or a layoff notice -- do you fight or flee? Freeze? I don't know about faint, but perhaps a wave of exhaustion and an unplanned afternoon nap?

I got lost alone in the forest once on a silent retreat near Big Sur, CA. I got lost for several hours. Not lost in thought, but actually lost. 

The moment I realized I was lost, which came upon me like a strike of lightning, my immediate instinctual reaction was to orient myself. I had somehow ventured off the trail. I looked behind me, nothing there. Up the mountain, down the mountain. Nothing.

Hope and fear have never spiraled so tightly as it did for me that day.

I was standing in the middle of the forest floor with no trail markers or notable landmarks in sight. 

The hair on the back of my neck stood up, my eyes looked to the position of the sun in the sky (as if I had any sense of whether I was north, south, east or west of the monastery) and sounds became the sole focus for my ears as I listened hopefully for the sounds of nearby ocean waves. They never came.

For a while everything rustled. To my ears everything started to sound like the ocean. To my eyes, everything looked like a trail. 

I'd arrive at what moments ago I was certain was the volunteer-maintained trail, only to have it turn into a spate of forest floor absolutely indistinguishable from the rest of the duff within eyesight.

As the afternoon started to fade, darkness seemed to be approaching fast. And suddenly, in a flash as quick as it had come on, the rustling stopped. I saw a trail marker, clear as day, a few yards away toward the ridge line. 

The fear dropped away and was replaced by relief, and then, immense gratitude.

The silence was beautiful and comforting.