Most ecopsychologists admit that it may be a while before society is convinced that restoring our relationship with Mother Earth is vital to achieving emotional health. But they're confident that they're making headway—and that progress will keep pace with the environment's rapid deterioration.
"Most everybody has some feel for what's happening to the earth, and when people hear or read something about it, it resonates," says Conn. "But as Einstein said, it's the way of thinking that caused the problem. We have to get out of that way of thinking in order to solve it."
Well, I was sold. After all, Einstein was a pretty bright fellow. But even if I wasn't entirely convinced, I was certainly ready for a vacation. And so, two months later, I boarded a plane destined for Costa Rica's capital city, San Jose.
Journal
The night before the course begins, I join program founder and director, Jim Rowe, for the last meal that won't consist primarily of beans and rice.
"Society promotes a culture taught to dominate nature," he says. "The message conveyed in [our] activities is aligned with the Gaia theory that everything is interrelated." Rowe takes me to the youth hostel to meet my nine classmates and our instructors—"Lluvia" (rain), who was born and raised in the rainforest, and "Arollo" (stream). We each adopt new names, some in Spanish, but all something from nature with which we feel a personal connection. I choose "Brook" because I've always felt soothed by a brook's soft babbling. We load our packs—40 pounds of supplies apiece, all sealed in plastic bags because nothing stays dry in the rainforest—and anxiously await the morning.
Day one
The day begins on the lawn with what will become a daily ritual—sit-ups, push-ups and yoga. Arollo teaches us Sun Salutation, a 12-step hatha yoga sequence. We then drive to our first physical challenge: a 50-foot-high climbing wall standing perpendicular to the ground and sparsely spotted with handholds.
After learning to belay—a safety technique with ropes that requires more trust on the climber's part than strength on the teammates'—everyone attempts the climb. I reach the top, amazed and thankful for my height; standing at a gawky 5 feet 11 inches, my typically klutzy long limbs actually help by extending my reach. That night, already whining about bruises and sore muscles, we stay at a run-down hotel in a nearby village.
Day two
The skies open as we shrug into our packs and ponchos. The trek begins high amid the clouds, where it's rainy, but not at all tropical. We hike for hours and finally reach our campsite: the base of a magnificent waterfall. All 12 of us huddle together under one big tarp, sharing the day's trials and triumphs as an unusually strong rainstorm rages around us. Suddenly, a clamorous crash stills our voices, and an instant later our shelter collapses.
"Out of nowhere we hear huge wrenchings from the earth," my classmate "Sage" later described in the group journal. "Rocks slide, branches whisper by and crash. Panic, fear and terror flood the group." We scramble from beneath the tarp and nearly stumble over the culprit: a giant tree that has succumbed to the heavy rain, missing us by a mere two meters. Wondering what other close calls Mother Nature has in store for us, no one sleeps soundly.
Day three
Another full day of hiking ensues as we climb toward our first of three "homestays." These small dwellings, each separated by miles of forest, will provide nightly respite from the rain. But first, more aftermath from the previous night's storm awaits us. This time, a landslide has washed away the trail, creating a steep slope of still tumbling rubble. We use rope to shuttle across, all the while peering below for a glimpse of the seemingly absent bottom.
Six more hours of sliding through shin-deep red mud, and we arrive at the homestay. The generous family serves dinner, and I sleep for the first time since leaving the hostel, lulled by the tapping of rain on the porch's tin roof.
Day four
Reaching the next homestay in only two hours, we begin a 45-minute journey into the womb of a nearby cave. Once there, we turn off our headlamps and are led through calming meditation. Arollo then announces that we must find our way out—without light or guidance.
After much deliberation, we form a human chain and slowly begin to climb. Fears heighten as eyes scan uselessly for hand- and footholds and bats swoop overhead, way too close for comfort. Four hours later, there are traces of sunlight. "We all share the experience of self-exploration as we emerge from the cave," "Arbol" (tree) wrote of the adventure. "We are all reborn."
Day five
Another short hike brings us to the next homestay, this one belonging to Lluvia's family. Like the other homes, it has a roof but no outer walls, so the sounds of a nearby waterfall soothe our spirits. Lluvia's father, a shaman, collects forest leaves and explains their medicinal purposes. Sleepily, we sip tea and claim floor space for the night.
Day six
Today our newly acquired climbing skills are put to the test. This time the goal is a tiny platform nestled in a tree 90 feet above. I feel proud when I reach the top and am rewarded with a spectacular view of the forest canopy.
In the afternoon, we embark on what OB calls a "solo." Deposited in the rainforest, we'll each spend one night in complete solitude. Armed with only a tarp, sleeping bag, candle, journal and pen, I finish constructing my shelter just as the rain stops. I write for hours by candlelight, scared senseless by what might lurk in the dark.
Day seven
Tags:
alienation,
american jungle,
bug bites,
california state university,
california state university at hayward,
disconnection,
ecopsychology,
edward o wilson,
emotional health,
harvard university professor,
history professor,
innate need,
michigan researchers,
modern technology,
professor edward,
restlessness,
simon schuster,
stephen kaplan,
theodore roszak,
voice of the earth
