But as I said, some times are harder than others.
In life we have joy, and we suffer. Sometimes the suffering can feel like a slow degrading, or a gradual tightening.Sometimes we can point to the suffering as it approaches like a sand storm on the horizon, we can use its hue to guess its source, we can turn the cups and bowls upside down. But then sometimes the suffering comes all at once, like an avalanche. Its always from the mountain we weren't watching, leaving a familiar landscape altered. Trees groan under new and sudden weight.
What follows the furry is the white white sea of sudden silence, and in this silence is the unexpected gift. We are left with two choices; We can let our brokenness make us bitter, or we can let our brokenness make us soft. The sadness can drown or it can dig a well. Wells are useful. Wells give life.
Didn't Rumi say to train our eyes upon the broken place, as this is where the light enters? A broken heart will usher in a sudden and complete summer. Even after the first frost there are butterflies and singing birds. There's iced tea. I've become preoccupied with things that become better once their broken; the precious shells of seeds and eggs. I'm mending now with gold and bright thread. Green bursts through the cracks, moats of sparkling dust swirl in the empty space.
Choosing this lightness over bitterness is dynamic. And most of the time I am swimming somewhere between the two shores, seeking one, but being pulled by the tide to the other. Each emotion passes through my heart, like the night and the day. Like waves on the shore. Its okay, I tell myself. Let them come, and go. Take each moment one at a time, carefully lest I drown or become crystallized, like the salt birds in Lake Natron.
So what could I do? I sat down and gave in. I verbally acknowledged that there was nothing I could do. There is an undeniable freedom in knowing "its not you", but there is also a helplessness; when you can change nothing to make things better, you can do nothing to make things better. Suddenly everything is in the hands of the Avalanche. Trees groan, their limbs snap and echo across the mountain. Sudden silence under the weight (the wait).
So now get up. Train your eye upon the broken place. Watch the new light drift in and transform the patch of earth. It was barren and dark. Now rain drifts in and sun, now seeds sprout, bees and butterflies visit. Now life. This is why they say to count it all joy I guess.
The Dog Mountain trail is not a long hike. Its a little over six miles total, but it is a swift climb up to 2800 elevation, and that's what gets you. Its difficult, and its very beautiful. The trail begins with oaks and passes into predominantly conifer forest with a few stubborn maples waiting for their turn in the sun. In the early spring the mountain is lit ablaze with wildflowers; by now, late summer, there were only a few late bloomers left. It was so green and quiet. It doesn't take long for one to hike above the sound of traffic below, into the wind in the pines that sounds so much like the ocean. I took slow steps, even paces, maintaining the same speed whether I was on flat ground or uphill. With each step I said to myself "here." "now." I kept my eye on the crack. I let the ache in my lungs be the sorrow that would dig its well. And I climbed.
Traditionally humans go to certain places on this planet for certain reasons. We go to the river to pray. We go to the ocean to heal. We go to the desert to petition. And we climb tall mountains to receive.
I wasn't looking for anything in particular. I was simply cracked open. Listening to the ocean in my heart, like a cockle shell.
The wind was strong that day. It picked up every time I said I was hot. It was always at my back, like a gift of cool encouragement. High above my head the whole forest swayed together in a generous dance, maple leaves fanned and caught the light. While we rested I pressed my cheek against an old Doug Fir, so tired I didn't even wonder about spiders. I let my feet grow roots which made friends with Doug and the mycelium. Elijah was fed by the ravens, I by forest spores and sunlight.
It was here in this sun-lit land-ocean of the swaying forest that the word "Conspire" came to me, and kept coming to me. Like a song stuck in my head, almost audible.
Conspire comes from the Latin word "conspirare" meaning "to breathe together". Sunlight and wind. Ancient water in deep wells. Co-conspirators. Everything conspires together for my greatest good. Take a wild leap and trust that.
What would meet me at the base of the mountain? More swimming between shores, carrying dueling realities in my heart. A heart full of heavy questions. But a heart also full of the light, and the wind, and the melting, and the ability to trust my co-conspirators always at my side. This is how we go on, how we reach the top and go back down again, one moment at a time. Here. Now.
This was a more thank worth while hike, and one that I plan to do again and again. Should you endevour to go, and you should, assess your abilities and allow for time to take breaks. You probably want to start by 10 (we started at two, and hiking down in the dark wasn't the most awesome) and bring plenty of snacks and water. And make sure your camera batter is charged, or else the photo's you take at the summit will have to be with your cell phone.
Thank you, whoever you are, for reading.
-A.H.