Robert Kull - Solitude: Seeking Wisdom in Extremes: A Year Alone in the Patagonia Wilderness

Seeking Wisdom in Extremes

Robert Kull

A YEAR ALONE IN THE PATAGONIA WILDERNESS

Copyright 2008 by Robert Kull

All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, me chanical, or other without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

The poem by Rumi on page 63 appears by kind permission of Coleman Barks.

Text design by Tona Pearce Myers

Cartography by Bill Nelson

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kull, Robert C.
Solitude : seeking wisdom in extremes : a year alone in the Patagonia wilderness /
Robert Kull.

p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN 978-1-57731-632-9 (hardcover : alk. paper)
1. Solitude. 2. Spiritual life. I. Title.
BJ1499.S65K85 2008
204.092dc22
[B]

2008020886

First printing, September 2008
ISBN 978-1-57731-632-9
Printed in Canada on 100% postconsumer-waste recycled paper

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Patti and Cat
and for
the wind and rain of southern Chile

On February 5, 2001, I went to live on a small, remote island on the Pacific coast of southern Chile, just west of the Andes Mountains and more than a hundred miles by water from the nearest small town. It was a wild, stormy, uninhabited region of rain and windswept islands and fjords, with no boats or airplanes and only the occasional faint sign of distant human activity.

I took all the equipment and supplies I would need to build a camp and stay, completely alone, for a year. The experience was exciting, difficult, and fascinating, often painful, and sometimes filled with wonder. Physical adventures and the challenges of survival counterpointed emotional exploration, philosophical reflection, and spiritual awakening.

Most stories have a beginning, middle, and end, and they draw us into some other time and place. This story is different; its all middle no clear beginning, no definite end and it slips out of time and into the eternal now. Its a journey into one of the most remote places on the planet and into some of the darkest recesses and brightest openings of the human spirit.

Solitude has the power to catalyze shifts in consciousness, so rather than write about my year alone, I have let the voice of solitude speak directly through the words and silences of my edited wilderness journal. Paradoxically, the voice of solitude must, in some sense, remain silent. As soon as the solitary begins to speak, even if by writing to an imagined reader, he (or she) is no longer truly alone.

In places, Ive set reflective Interludes between journal entries to add perspective. These were written afterward, and they step back from the immediate intensity of my experience in solitude to reflect on important ideas or aspects of the year. But the heart of the story beats within the hours, days, and months of the journal. There, Ive tried to scrupulously tell my truth as I lived it even painful parts I might prefer to keep private. Although I havent included photographs here, many beautiful images can be found at www.bobkull.org.

In many cultures, solitude is recognized as an opportunity to journey inward; in our culture, spending time alone is often considered unhealthy because we tend to believe that meaning in life is found only through relationship with other people. But to be fully human, we need relationship not only with other people but with the nonhuman world, with our own inner depths and with Something Greater. For me, that nonmaterial Presence is mysterious and sacred. It can be experienced, but not defined. And Ive learned that in coming into a deeper relationship with my self, I develop the capacity to connect more deeply with others.

One of the challenges of solitude is that you have to face yourself. There are no easy escapes. During the year, I struggled with ongoing cycles of resistance and release. Each resolution gave rise to new tension, as storm and calm followed each other in succession. The fundamental tensions were emotional and spiritual, and the moments of resolution did not arise from changing the world, but from coming to accept the world and myself as we are.

My intention in writing this story is not just to describe my own year alone in the wilderness but to evoke the experience for others and guide them into solitude with me. Nestled within this tale of physical and spiritual adventure, there is also an invitation to reflect on our common life as we each struggle to live fully and face our daily challenges with compassion and equanimity. There are no sure answers in these pages, only the space to pause and listen to life calling to life; reminding us that we, too, belong here.

There are times when life seems to snatch us up and carry us toward an unknown destination. We hear something calling from deep within and suspect that if we dont respond, we will wither into a hollow shell. I heard such a call in the mid-1970s, and it changed my life. I was in my late twenties, working as a logger on the west coast of Canadas Vancouver Island, drinking in the local pub, and attempting to be a hard-ass macho. I began to feel a powerful need to be alone. I quit my job and watched myself almost as a spectator buy a canoe, purchase supplies for three months, and paddle into the backcountry of northern British Columbia.

Ive always spent time alone in nature. My earliest memory is of sitting on a rock one hot dusty morning, cap gun in its holster at my hip, watching the clouds and buzzards drift across the southern California sky. There was tension in my family, and between us and the neighbors, so perhaps I disappeared into the woods and pastures seeking peace and a place where I could be myself. I doubt, though, that I knew then why I went; I still doubt I really know why I go. I can give plausible reasons, but finally, I just feel, from time to time, a mysterious urge to leave society behind.

Deep solitude is strange and powerful and can be frightening. During my teenage years and into my twenties, I often spent days alone in the wilderness, but three months was a radical leap I wasnt psychologically prepared for. I almost lost it out there in northern British Columbia. I almost didnt survive. After six or seven weeks, without other people to help me maintain my identity, the facade of autonomous self-sufficiency started to crumble. Fear crept in as I awoke to how small and vulnerable I was in the face of an enormous and threatening universe. My life felt frighteningly tenuous, and death always instantly possible.