[June 15]

I live somewhere absurdly beautiful. Massively beautiful. There are mountains everywhere I look; rolling hills covered in billions of trees, punctuated by rocky granite cliffs. Highway driving is a journey unto itself. Some of my most joyous moments have been in my car, seeing a mountain peak peek around a swerve in the road, its magnificence springing tears to my eyes and eliciting an erratic scream from my soul.

The only screams that have escaped my lips on the 401 have been enraged expletives.

And yet, and yet, there is something hauntingly stunning about the Ontario wilderness.

I say this having just scrolled through my photo library for inspiration, spanning from my hikes through a million shades of green, back to the cotton candy skies of Algonquin.

The peace and stillness of north Ontario is heartbreakingly special. It stops you in your tracks — your mind and senses could be spiralling, but the visual of glassy lake reflecting the trees on its shores, the crystal clear sky at dawn, daylight, or dusk, and low but diverse treeline can soothe every cell, every nerve in your body. It can quiet every thought in your mind, calm every part of your soul. And it will tug, deep but oh so gently, on your heart.

BC, with its reality-defying splendour, is not as calming to the mind or senses. Here, I feel activated and excitement rumbles through me; a stream of endless possibility. Exploration is beckoning at every turn, and knowing the mind-blowing scene staring at you is only scratching the surface of the beauty yet uncovered only adds to the brilliance.

Suffice it to say, both provinces have an abundance of gorgeous gifts that I’ve been humbly blessed to experience.

After six weeks (is that all?) of living in BC, driving along the mountainous, granite-lined highways to Slocan, Salmo, Kaslo and beyond to bathe in hot springs, dancing til dawn in bushes and barns, gaining primal skills for survival, I can say I’ve seen a lot. The rushing river of possibility has swept me away, and today is really the first weekend day this whole time that I can feel really, truly good about having a cozy day in bed to create. No time-dependent events, no camping prep, no sunshine beckoning me to discover a new trail or sweeping viewpoint — my sprained ankle is also keeping me (un)comfortably stationary.

Though the need to be rather than do has surfaced in signs from the Universe since my arrival, with my limited time and limited nice weather, I’ve been taking every opportunity to get out there. And here, despite the vast, wild spaces, I’ve found it difficult to find genuine calm in BC to just Be. Even moments when I’ve found peace and stillness sitting solo in the woods are soundtracked by the flowing crash of glacial rivers and laced with fear of being stumbled upon by grizzlies. But again, only six weeks in, I can’t say for sure there isn’t pure peace to be discovered.

It is of course important to acknowledge the deficit of peace we’ve experienced since October. Knowing acutely the unconscionable inhumane catastrophe in Palestine, we cannot expect to find this idealistic feeling we’d be blessed to have. Still, out of perhaps selfish necessity, I have tried to balance my involvement in organizing for Palestine with reconnecting to Nature, dancing, and writing unrelated stories.

This week has brought the closest twinges I’ve felt to homesickness. After spraining my ankle diving out of the way of a falling tree, I felt a long lost but familiar sense of actually needing my parents; I wanted to tell them what happened and let them know I’m okay, even if they didn’t know I wasn’t, but I mostly wanted to hear their comforting voices so I’d know I’d be okay. Spending lots of time with many new people — who I have big love for, but who have yet to develop into deeper connections — made me miss my best friends dearly.

And now, with exactly a month left before turning around back “home,” where I’ll make decisions about my future “home,” I’m grateful that photos of Ontario still elicit a deep sense of love and longing. That I know I have still lakes, silent mornings and nights, and long days ahead. That I can find simple, sweet peace that perhaps I took for granted, and feel abundant, humble gratitude that I can access a semblance of peace at all.

Home(is)sick