Tent Pop

I find this really cool camping spot in the thick of the woods where no one else is. The ground is soft and smooth. It’s cool in the hot summer. There’s a little brook to drink from. I have it all to myself and very quickly I declare myself the mayor, prime minister, and king. And things go well.

Then the Camp Host comes along and we strike a good conversation and I realize that He’s telling me that if I want to stay here, I need to give him my tent. This is a loss, but the weather is so good, I can take it. It’s His.

Then He asks for my sleeping bag. No one really needs one in this forest. I hand it over, but it’s a little alarming. Then He asks for my ice box. Well… okay. Okay. Are you sure? Okay… okay. And I hand it over. I’ve eaten recently, right?

I can live without all that, I tell myself, because I still have my sacred camping chair. From this perch, I can watch nature unfold, sit, and soak in the sunlight. I’ve got this anchor in my campsite. That is, until the Camp Host asks for that, too.

He says, “You can stay here, but you’ve got to let it all go. Do you understand?”

I’ve lost everything. My campsite is stripped; my experience, ruined. Why has this happened to me?

Before I can get any answers from the Camp Host, He’s gone. Just like that. I am alone. And it is then that I realize that the trees I coveted were poisonous weeds. And the brook I nearly drank from was filled with human waste. It’s time I abandon my hope of a vacation in this woodland paradise.

Yeah, I’ll let it go. And in my heart, in an admixture of anger, courage, hope and defeat, I give up the last dram of sanity afforded me, and truly, unqueastioningly and drained in the presence of a profound mystery – I let go.

It is then, as I am headed out of the forest, back to my trash heap in town, that I discover all my camping gear. My tent, my chair, my icebox, my sleeping bag – all of it – has been set up, erected in a new camping spot.

There are no weeds here. No murky brook. But what has been given to me is a vista on the edge of the evergreens in full view of the ocean. The blue waves far below roll whiteley into the broad, sandy shore, as far as the eye can see. The noon sun in freedom filters down through the bluest sky, dappling light on the seacaps.

The Camp Host stakes my name permanently to the spot, having reserved it for me long before I ever wanted to escape into the woods. There is a great risk in letting everything go. The Camp Host knew this. But what is gained is life. Yeah, I’ve let everything go. And here is where I’m held.