Audio here: https://soundcloud.com/gary-sizer/the-spirit-of-the-woods

 [00:00:00.840] - Ray (Host)

I love you guys. You're doing a great job. Are you ready for your next story? Tell us. Come on up, Gary.

[00:00:22.690] - Gary

Thank you. Every marine is a rifleman. Regardless of what your MoS. Or specialty is, you have to be trained in combat tactic, which is why I, of all people, found myself dragging a squad of young grunts out into the dark woods around Camp Lejou many years ago. The purpose of this training exercise was to practice an ambush. It was a nighttime ambush. And there was another squad who thought that they were just on a simple out and back nighttime march. And we were dug in on a higher ridge overlooking where they would eventually be with our empty rifles pointed at them, ready to leap up and yell, bang, bang. Gotcha. It was serious, but it was also kind of fun sometimes. This particular night, not so fun, more boring than anything else. We were well dug into our positions. The sun had already gone down. It was dark. It was quiet. Not really sure how long I'd been lying there with my rifle pointed into the darkness, straining to see or hear anything, just anything. It was a warm summer night. The cicadas had already gone to bed. The moon had already gone down.

And it must have been overcast because there were no stars. So it was completely dark and silent. And as I struggled to see or hear anything, I became dimly aware of a sound somewhere in the distance that I guess the best way I could describe it was a deep resonating. It didn't really seem to have any direction. It was just kind of coming from everywhere. And it continued and it undulated, and it grew in intensity. As I continued to struggle to see anything, it began maddening me a bit. What could this sound possibly be? I still couldn't see anything. And the humming increased in intensity. And very, very gradually, it became a voice. It was the sound of the letter M being hummed at a deep, resonating volume, relentlessly by a disembodied tone that kept getting louder and louder. And as it became disoriented, the voice became more real. And then it spoke my name. And when it did, I floated free from my body. And as I rose up, I looked down, and I could see myself in the prone position, rifle pointed in the correct direction, eyes open wide, but my jaw was completely slack.

The humming continued, and I floated higher. I could see the rest of my squad. One of the marines had fallen asleep. One of them had wet himself rather than make noise by getting up, and the other squad wasn't coming. The voice said my name one more time, and I asked, Where am I? And it responded, you are here now, safe. And the voice presented itself to me in the form of a tree. I saw an ancient oak. The oldest of trees. And it had a million craggy arms, each ending in a million green hands. And its bark was covered with flowery eyes that all regarded me. And they looked at me and said, look. And I looked without my eyes. And the eyes gave me their message. They told me that everything in the universe is connected. Everything is made of light. And it turned me into light, both particle and wave, and sent me into the heart of a growing star where I was surrounded by millions of others just like me. And as our numbers grew, the system expanded and eventually collapsed under its own weight and exploded, sending us into the vast corners of the universe.

And I traveled an infinite distance in zero time. And the Spirit of the woods, this tree, the Spirit of the woods, told me that everything is connected and that I am the tree and that the tree is me and that when you shoot the enemy, you're merely shooting yourself. And that thought was interrupted by a very real crack, a snapping twig on the ground behind me. It was our instructor Sighs her, on your feet. One of my legs had fallen asleep, so I didn't do a very good job. But I stood up and I gave my report that I had neither seen nor heard anything out of the ordinary. Questionable statement at best. Round these boys up and take them back to base. These other knuckle heads got lost. Chow hall serving pancakes in the for breakfast. If you hurry, you'll make it. And then he disappeared into the darkness. I checked my watch. We've been out there for 10 hours. Now, many cultures have their equivalent version of 40 days or 40 nights or some kind of vision quest where a young initiate descend into the woods and stripped of all resources. And when they return, they have something about them that the elders recognize in the uninitiated envy that calm confidence in one's ability is coupled with just a dash of enlightenment.

But what does a modern warrior do with that? And of course, I realized that that ridge formed the perfect conditions for a natural sensory deprivation chamber. The temperature, the silence, the darkness. We'd spent weeks up to that night performing manual labor, strenuously while shaving our heads and performing group chants. I mean, what else would have happened, right? I mean, when the human brain finds itself devoid of input, of course it creates its own. But there's this nagging sense of something I can't quite put my finger on. This sense of I know what I saw. I often wonder if other modern warriors have met the Spirit of the woods, and if so, what did it teach them? I know that I can sometimes call them that voice simply by going on a short hike. All I need is a log, a quiet space to sit. And I can hear that voice calling to me. It says you are here now, safe.

[00:07:08.380] - Ray (Host)

Gary, everybody. Does it surprise you that Gary was in the Marine Corps?