One of the joys of hiking is the noticing- rocks, bones, leaves, blossoms, birds, prints, smell of pine, of sage, sound of birds, wind. But we can take it beyond this when the trek up the mountain becomes a micro spiritual pilgrimage. Whether it's one or the other of course depends on our individual constitution. With each step taken toward the ascent, the senses noticing fades to a peripheral blur and the walker and the symbol merge, joined by the hazy euphoria of detachment that washes over when we let the petty fall away, the mundanities of a chattering mind. Timelines intersect- the very long, very large, geographical ones and our own small biology passing through, so relatively short and transient, we bring our whirling minds along the trail, until finally we merge with the symbol and the hike becomes just another practice. Of course it is! The trail up the mountain is a representation of the journey upward, full of struggle, dangers lurking, breathing hard, carrying a heavy load, sun beating down on us... we stumble and are humbled, and we smile, even if consumed, because in our strife there is meaning, purpose, connection, an experience far beyond the ooh of an interesting rock, bone, or leaf. And death is no fear.
Does it matter which path we take to reach the top of the mountain?
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