Snake Eye Wild | Chattahoochee River

I was in my teens when we moved to Georgia. New state. New humidity. New rhythm.

And a river I didn’t yet understand.

After a trail run along the banks of the Chattahoochee River, legs buzzing and lungs wide open, I climbed out onto the warm rocks that edged the current. I remember the sound of the water slipping over stone. The way the air felt thick and damply alive compared to Oregon’s open fields and mountains or Southern California's wild coasts.

I stretched out on the granite, sun soaking into my skin, heart still pounding from the run. And I fell asleep.

No phone. No plan. Just a teen body tired in the best possible way. When I woke up, something felt different. Heavy. Warm.

I opened my eyes and looked down.

A snake was curled on my belly, sunbathing on my bare skin. Still. Content. Completely at ease. And strangely… so was I.

The Nervous System Knows

You would think panic would be the first reaction. But it wasn’t.

There was a suspended second where everything felt neutral. The river kept moving. The sun kept shining. The snake rested like it had chosen me as a temporary rock.

And I realized something in that moment that has stayed embedded in me ever since.

The nervous system knows. If I had jerked, screamed, flailed, I would have turned that peaceful moment into chaos. But something inside me understood the rhythm of what was happening. The snake wasn’t attacking. It was sunbathing.

Just like I was. So I stayed still. Breath slow. Heart steady.

Soon, it opened it's eyes, stared me square in the face, uncoiled, and silently slipped away sliding back into the rocks as quietly as it had arrived. No chaos. Just a smooth exit back into moving water.

And there I was, staring at the sky, completely awake in a new way.

Becoming the Rock

Here’s what stays with me all these years later. I had just finished a long trail run. My body was alive, adrenaline humming, muscles warm. And yet when something wild literally rested on me, I didn’t explode. I became still. I became the rock.

That’s nervous system wisdom we can’t learn from a textbook. We talk about fight-or-flight. About cortisol. About how nature regulates the body. But sometimes the lesson shows up curled on your stomach.

If I had jerked or screamed, the moment could have turned sharp. But something inside me understood the rhythm of the river. The snake wasn’t attacking. It was absorbing heat. So I matched it. Stillness met stillness. Wild met calm. And calm held.

As Sengcan reminds us,

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“The great way is not difficult for those who have no preferences.”

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Georgia Taught Me Presence

Moving from the vast West's open mountains and farm fields to Georgia’s riverbanks was a shift. The west coast had taught me vastness. Georgia taught me intimacy with the wild.

The Chattahoochee didn’t care that I was new. It didn’t adjust itself to my teenage mind. It offered rocks, water, and creatures doing exactly what creatures do.

Nature doesn’t amplify our drama. It reflects our state. If we show up frantic, everything feels threatening. If we show up grounded, even a snake can feel like a quiet companion sharing the sun.

That day, I didn’t conquer fear. I simply didn’t create it. And that distinction matters.

The Snakes That Show Up

Life has a way of placing unexpected weight right at the center of our body. A move. A risk. A big decision. A wild opportunity. It lands warm and unannounced. Our instinct is to flail. But what if we just… look at it? Eye to eye. What if we let the moment reveal itself?

That afternoon on the river rocks became one of my first true lessons in active zen living. Not the quiet, passive kind. The embodied kind. The kind built through trail running, sun on skin, breath steady, heart strong.

The river kept moving. The snake slid away. The sun stayed warm.

And I lay there afterward laughing, realizing I had just passed some invisible wilderness test. Not because I was fearless. But because I was steady.

Sometimes strength is sprinting the trail. Sometimes strength is becoming the rock.

Cheers!

Kether

Spunky Mind

"In wilderness is the

preservation of the world."

— Henry David Thoreau