Forestwalking: A Way of Being

Forestwalking: A Way of Being

I have found myself returning again and again to the same simple act — walking. Not with a destination in mind, not for fitness, not to “get somewhere”, but to be within the land itself. Over time, without really intending it, this has become something more than just walking. It has become a way of being. The name Forestwalking came to me during meditation, not as something I chose, but something that felt given — a quiet recognition of what was already there.

For me, nature is not a place to visit. It is not separate from me, nor something that exists purely as scenery or escape. When I am in the woods, on the downs, or by the water, there is a sense of returning rather than arriving. The ground beneath my feet, the movement of air, the sound of water — these are not external experiences, but part of the same field of awareness that I exist within. The more time I spend in these spaces, the more that boundary softens, until it becomes difficult to say where “I” end and everything else begins.

This connection is not dependent on conditions being ideal. It is not something reserved for warm days and clear skies. Walking in wind, rain, cold, or even the harshness of a storm carries its own kind of presence. The bite of the air, the force of the wind, the sound of rain against skin or leaves — these are not obstacles to the experience, but part of it. There is something grounding in meeting the elements as they are, rather than choosing only comfort. It strips away preference and brings you into direct contact with what is real in that moment.

The body plays an important part in this. We are taught, often without question, that the body should be hidden, controlled, presented in acceptable ways. But in nature, those ideas begin to feel out of place. Walking barefoot, feeling the ground directly, or removing layers when the environment allows — these are not acts of rebellion, but of alignment. It is not about making a statement or seeking attention, but about removing what is unnecessary. What remains is something quieter and more honest — simply being as I am, within the world as it is.

This way of being is not always easy to carry into everyday life. There is a clear tension between the freedom I feel in nature and the expectations of society. There are moments of hesitation, of second-guessing, of wondering how others will perceive me. That conflict is still there, and I don’t pretend to have resolved it. In many ways, it is part of the path itself — learning where to soften, where to stand firm, and how to remain authentic without needing to force it.

What I have come to realise is that this is not about escaping the world, but about relating to it differently. Slowing down. Paying attention. Allowing experience to unfold rather than constantly directing it. Whether walking through woodland, standing in water, or simply sitting and listening, there is a sense that something deeper is always present — not separate, not hidden, just often overlooked.

I don’t see Forestwalking as a practice to follow or a philosophy to adopt. It is simply the name I have given to the way I move through the world when I am most at ease, most present, and most myself. There is no destination within it, no final point to reach. Just the act of walking, again and again, in sun, wind, rain or storm, and noticing what reveals itself along the way.