A meditation

Book 1





ONE

The path creeps along in its serpentine fashion. By 4:00 in the morning I am already on the trail, making decent time. I was anxious to get up on the mountain, and so I drove here immediately after work. I am anxious, anxious for the hike, anxious to get to my secret spot before the sun rises.

The path feels good under my feet; the cool, subtle earth is gentle and inviting. My feet are happy with their job. With the walking, my mind wanders from thought to distant thought. I do my best to not control it, I just let it go. There is something comforting in letting oneself go, and a mountain is certainly the place for wanderings of any sort.

I stumble. I did not even see the root grasping for my ankle.

“I should have brought a flash light” I mutter to myself, noticing how small my voice seems compared to all around me. But I never bring one. Having a flash light makes me focus on the walk, forcing me to think about the path knotted with loose rocks and hidden tree roots, and I want my mind to wander, to relax. Knowing exactly what is ahead also takes away from the adventure aspect of my hike; it is fun to be surprised by the mountain.

On a different level of consciousness, separate from my wandering thoughts, I notice and marvel at the scenery. The trees seem to sleep along with the rest of the world. I can hear small forest creatures foraging about in the cover of the night, protected from harm by the slumbering forest. It is comforting to finally be completely alone, separated from the world and all of its confusion and drama.

The path winds on, for miles. It is getting closer to sunrise, and the coming dawn somehow brings a different smell. From the dark, sedated forest smell, rich with dirt and vegetation, the uprising smell seems to be of a stirring world. There is an anticipation for morning that cannot be seen, only felt, in the forest. The mountain itself is eager for a new day. I only wish that I could be as eager for mornings as these earthly objects. My ears prickle at the gurgling of some distant, hidden stream. I never see the stream this early in the hike, but I can always hear it chatting away in its melancholic way. I’ll have to cross it in a few miles.

The path steepens, and my fatiguing body utters a small complaint. I dismiss it. I have not been sleeping well lately. When I lay down to rest at night my mind races, reeling and turning over and over. I just can’t seem to quiet it. It is truly amazing how thoughts can plague an individual. My pack is light though, making the journey easier. It consists of only a Gatorade and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and a small emergency kit. A smarter hiker would come more prepared, but I hike this path with such frequency that few things are unexpected.

For nearly a mile the path is steep and strenuous, and I actually have to labor to get through this section. When I am the most tired, yearning for my hike, this part is quite foreboding; but this time I am prepared, and know that I can get through it.

Finally, just when I am about ready to quit, the path evens out into a small meadow circled by aspens. I follow the path through the field and stop to rest against a tree. Looking back, I can see all the way to the horizon. The sun is just ready to emerge, and the clouds that sit on the horizon are violent colors of pinks, oranges, and purples. I had planned to get to the summit of the mountain before noon, but now I am just too tired. The edge of the sun peaks over the horizon, bringing with it another glorious day. I’m happy to see the sun, the dawn, but in the back of my mind I secretly wish that I had someone other than the aspens to share the moment with. The sun takes his time, apparently sharing the same sentiments about morning as I normally have, not especially eager to wake up. It is rare for me to awake before noon, and I have certainly enjoyed many more sunsets than sunrises. The lazy clouds shift colors rapidly, just quickly enough for me to note the changes. I wish I could paint. But maybe the inability to render beauty makes me appreciate it all the more? It does not matter, beauty is, and I enjoy it.

The sun is now gaining altitude. I must have dozed for a while. Tranquil scenes make sleep (easy). Easy sounds emerge from the background noise; a gentle breeze has picked up, bringing cool and refreshing odors to me, tantalizing my cognitive self. I stretch and stand, unwilling to walk but needing to loosen my body. Somehow stiff and awkward movements help. The Gatorade and sandwiches are refreshing, invigorating, and I am now ready.

I sit, cross-legged, against the tree under which I just napped. Keeping my back straight for good posture, I rest my hands on my knees, palms up. I close my eyes and relax. I have to work hard to keep my mind from wandering, forcing it to be quiet takes a lot more effort than one would imagine. I focus on each breath, imagining the air enter me, filling my lungs. Good, positive air is inhaled, and the negative aspects of life are exhaled. As the air fills my lungs I envision my lungs working, taking out the oxygen from the air and delivering it to my blood. Good and Positive begin to circulate through my body, and I can feel their healing effects over come me. In a few moments there is no longer any negativism in me, and I bask momentarily in the feeling of being Optimistic.

I begin to focus on the senses other than sight. I can hear the distant creek, now bubbling enthusiastically, in the distance. I imagine that it is teaching me some bit of ageless wisdom. I clear my head with another breath. The sound of wind moving through the trees and field is calming. I have to work to not drift off to sleep again. I’m so tired.

Another thought clearing breath of optimism.

I can feel the warmth of the now high sun caressing over my body, heating my clothes. It is a good thing the wind is so cool.

Breathe.

I focus on the ground that I am sitting on. The earth is soft, nurturing, understanding, gently supporting me in my meditative endeavors. I draw strength up from the earth herself and become perfectly still.

My awareness begins to (flux). I am aware that all the parts of nature are (intrinsically) connected, that one could not exist without all the others. I can feel how the trees, the grass, the earth, the air are all different, and yet dependent upon one another. I feel the mountain, in all her magnitude beneath me, supporting all this life. I always feel a sort of reverence to this mountain. Upon the mountain I can step outside myself and view my life objectively. One day this will make me a better person. The mountain is the most sacred thing I can imagine.

Breathe.

I can feel the energy of life around me. As my awareness increases, the energy of the life grows so strong that it seemingly pulses. I recognize my place above the earth on my mountain but under the sky, part of nature but also an observer thereof. The life force is all around me, and my own heart’s pulse echoes that of the life pulse around me. With a tiny moment of heightened understanding, I realize that I am a part of this great, delicate web of existence. The very air that I breathe binds me to nature, and nature to me. I sit for a moment, appreciating this heightened state of existence, accepting my place in the world. I push the understanding further. The experience peaks, and I realize that knowing and truly understanding one’s place in nature, before man and universe, is enlightenment.

Only by clearing our heads can we truly think.

The meditative focus begins to weary me. I ease my way out of meditation, feeling considerably rejuvenated.

It is then that the craving sneaks upon me, like a spider to a trapped fly, with such steel-like finality as a hook in my heart. I fight it off, but I know that I am its victim, and with this realization all my resistance is undermined. Only when I reach my clearest moments, when I am for once ‘in touch’ do these cravings come on so sharply. I fumble through my pack with trembling hands, digging at the bottom, praying that I somehow subconsciously brought them. I always bring them. Such dualistic qualities, bettering oneself one moment, and then killing oneself in the next, maddens me. With an angry flick of the lighter I breathe in that luscious poison, smirking at myself.

“Stupid cigarettes.”