Blog Entry 13 * 5-13-22
The drive north to the California-Oregon border, where the National Redwood Forest lies, is nothing short of breathtaking. The highway winds through remote stretches of coastline and forest, and it becomes clear that this region isn’t just a stop along the way—it's a destination you must intentionally journey to. There’s something sacred about that. You don’t pass through the Redwood Forest by accident; you arrive by choice, often in search of something deeper.
What surprised me most was discovering that the main area of the National Park sits almost at sea level. You drive down through dunes and sandy fields to reach the park’s welcome center, nestled just a few feet above the Pacific. Then, almost suddenly, you're surrounded by towering Redwood trees that seem impossibly ancient and rooted in both time and stillness.
This grove felt different from the first one I visited. It was much larger and had a unique shape—like a natural valley rising slightly above the low sea-level lands that surround it. There was a noticeable shift in energy here. The forest held a certain presence, a sentience, as if the trees themselves were quietly watching and waiting.
As I walked through the grove, I could truly feel the presence of the Redwoods. They weren’t just tall or old—they felt deeply alive. It was as if I could sense their perspective on life, their quiet resistance to death, their long meditative endurance. Perhaps it’s because they live so far beyond the span of a human life—hundreds, even thousands of years. These trees seem to embody what it means to surrender to stillness, yet remain fully alive.
A lifetime as a Redwood feels like it must be a deeply contemplative experience for any soul incarnating into such a form. You can feel it in the atmosphere: the weight of age, the purity of presence, and the timelessness of nature engaged in its own form of spiritual practice.
There’s something in these groves that mirrors the bhakti path—an invitation to root deeply, to live slowly, to offer presence as devotion. Just standing among these silent giants, you’re reminded that devotion doesn’t always look like movement or words. Sometimes it’s simply being—with open stillness and an enduring heart.
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