How to Create Your Own Solo Medicine Walk

“It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work, and when we no longer know which way to go, we have come to our real journey.” -Wendell Berry

I left at dawn, just as the sun was coming up over the mountains shedding its first auburn glow over the desert. The dog was whining to go with me, but I needed to do this one alone. I decided that the front gate to my yard would be my threshold. In the realm of archetypes, a threshold can be anything you cross to signify your intent to enter sacred or ceremonial space. Once you cross the threshold, you are acknowledging that everything that happens from that point forward has meaning. In this case, my front gate served as both a physical threshold and a metaphorical one. It felt romantic somehow to cross the threshold at my own front yard, like Frodo Baggins returning to the shire, but a little taller (not much) and a little less hairy (not much). I guess that makes Three Peaks my shire.

On this day in late summer, I was embarking on a medicine walk, sometimes called a solo walk. A medicine walk is a ceremony in which you leave at first light to venture into nature and return at last light, fasting from food, phone and outside distractions. Most importantly, you set an intention for your walk, usually a question your heart is longing for an answer to. Time alone in nature without interruption invites deep listening to your intuition, as well as a powerful connection with the more-than-human world, which can act as a mirror for you, reflecting the answers you seek.

My intention was simple: What do I need to remember about myself? So, I walked with this in mind.

I had woken up anxious, borderline fearful, filled with self-doubt. It had been raining heavily for days, including for hours the night before. I knew it would be muddy and I would most likely be caught in a rainstorm. I was questioning if I should go at all. But I was motivated by my carb loading the night before, I had to burn it off somehow, might as well go.

I hiked two miles before I entered the trees where there was a comfortable private place to sit and write. Writing is another element of the Medicine Walk. I am embarking on a journey and much like a narrative arc, there is a beginning, a middle and an end (rising action, climax, and dénouement, for you lit nerds.) I am tracking my narrative as I go. Just as in a story or novel, I proceed with curiosity, the hero of my own tale. What symbols will arise? What obstacles will I have to overcome? Will there be a peak experience that ties it all together? And like any good story, the hero seeks catharsis, a feeling of release that will lead to renewal.

My stomach growled a bit, my back hurt. I had to remind myself that I had another 14 hours to go. I meandered, switching between following a path and wandering in the trees. I’ll be honest, the anxiety I began the morning with intensified as I continued my walk, states of panic, verge of tears, frustration, self-doubt, fear. I stopped to meditate to relax and get centered and stop the preposterous thought loops of irrational worry and ridiculous far out scenarios of danger. I reminded myself that this was my lizard brain, the limbic brain, whose function is to keep me from getting eaten by bears and lost in the woods. It’s where the robust emotions get stuck, particularly fear, and keeps me hyper-vigilant even when I don’t need to be.

When a tarantula hawk began suspiciously circling me, I used my backpack as defense and ran away screaming. Tarantula hawks are terrifying (look them up if you don’t know), but I had to laugh at myself and the ridiculousness of my overreaction. I reminded myself of all the times I’ve hiked alone in the forest from Alaska to New York to New Mexico without anything bad ever happening. I realized then, I had to trust myself to listen to my intuition because I still had 8 more hours to go. The crows arrived. I decided that junipers had less ants than pinons and were therefore better for napping under. My tummy grumbled like the overhead airplane. I continued my walk.

At the peak of my journey, I felt completely at ease. I made land art and sang songs. I felt a sense of belonging to the forest. I felt a deep understanding that I was never alone as I am connected to all beings. I wandered far from trails, following my instincts. I frolicked. It was all so lovely. Then the rains blew in, and I spent two hours in a rain suit squatting under a tree, jumping up onto my toes with every crash of thunder as three lightning storms seemed to converge over me at once. That was when I faced moments of dreaded boredom. More singing. Talking to trees. Drawing in the dirt with sticks. The hunger wasn’t too bad. I felt empty and fatigued. When the storm settled, I trudged home through mud and canyons and across dirt roads past burrowing owl excrement over ridges and pushed through as the sky darkened faster than I expected. At the sound of generators and barking dogs, I knew I was near to the shire. I walked toward Taos Mountain, dreaming of an Impossible burger.

For days after the medicine walk, I continued to process all that I had been through. But the main thing I learned was the answer to my intention that I set out with that morning. What do I need to remember about myself? I am capable, resilient and I persevere. I am strong and I can trust my intuition.

What you need for a Medicine Walk:

• An entire day or half-day free
• An intention, a question in your heart
• A threshold such as a door, a line of sticks, a trailhead, or a pair of rocks that you can enter and exit through to signal the beginning and end of your liminal journey
• A place to wander freely all day in nature where you feel safe, won’t get lost and will encounter minimal humans
• A pen and paper
• Proper clothes for the weather and emergency kit with food, fire starter, first aid, etc.
• Plenty of water
• Someone who knows where you will be and when you will be back. And don’t forget to let them know when you return. Make an emergency plan with them in the case that you don’t return.

Want more? Check out this guidebook for indepth info into Solo Walks for anybody at any level: