A Family Christmas
Last year I started a tradition for myself. Since I have no family near where I live and Christmas is such a family time, I hike a long trail on Christmas and think of everyone I meet as my family. Last year, it was the Appalachian Trail from Newfound Gap to Charlies Bunion and back. This year it was the popular Alum Cave to LeConte Lodge trail.
Not too many days ago Alum Cave trail was covered in ice above the bluff, but warmer temperatures created no need for micro spikes, even though I carried them just in case. Technically a challenging trail, it is five miles from the parking lot in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park to the Lodge. The first almost half of the journey is a very popular destination—to Alum Cave Bluff. So, the parking lot is almost always full and the trail busy below this area. There is an elevation gain of 2661 feet from the trail head to the Lodge. It’s hard. Even below the bluff, it’s challenging and only gets more so past the bluff. But enough of the technical details.
There’s usually a good many solo hikers on Christmas Day. I especially feel compassion for them because I understand being alone and wanting to do something fun and beautiful to enrich my life on a day that can be challenging to be alone. So, I’m not alone. They are not alone.
On yesterday’s hike, it was a global family I met. Many languages were heard…English, Russian, Spanish, Thai, Japanese, Hindi, and others. Solo hikers, couples, and large families shared the trail. There were Christmas sweaters, Christmas hats, jingle bells, new shoes and boots (evidenced by lack of muddiness on a very muddy trail), and a sense of joy and happiness with everyone. No matter what holiday people celebrated or the spiritual tradition they followed, everyone shared this season of light with smiles.
Folks ascending from Alum Cave Bluff to LeConte Lodge are often tourists and don’t understand the challenges of the steep, rugged, rocky, strenuous trail. They start later in the day and with shorter, winter days, don’t realize how dangerous that can be. Temperatures drop, the sun sets early, and cell phones aren’t dependable lights for a descent through rough terrain in the dark.
On my way down yesterday, I started at 12.30pm from the Lodge. It wasn’t as crowded yesterday, but there were several people hiking up. Many of them stopped me and asked how far it was to the top. I always take time to chat because many are not prepared. One young woman had a large water bottle but was shocked to learn there’s no water available during the off season as guest services are shut off. So she’d have no water coming down the five miles. She was trying to decide if she should try to make it to Myrtle Point, an observation point past the lodge. We discussed her options and resources. A young couple asked me how far it was to the lodge and if could they make it. I asked them questions about their provisions and the important questions: do you have a flashlight and water? They wanted to know why about the light. By then, it was nearing 2pm and they were an hour away from the Lodge. That gave them 2 hours to get down the trail. It takes me 2 ½ hours to get down the trail and I’m very familiar with it. I asked them if they were prepared to hike down in the dark. Gently, of course. But they were my family, so I wanted them to be safe.
And so, the afternoon went as I descended through clouds. Saying hello, wishing folks a Merry Christmas, and enjoying my family Christmas hike.
There’s the family we are born into, the friends that become family along the way, and then there’s the global family that isn’t defined by boundaries, languages, spiritual practices, or rules. We are one human family.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the family of trees and rocks and creeks that we are all part of. So to those large hemlocks, spruce, and fir trees that remind me every time I’m on this trail to slow down…I love you and am glad to be part of your family. To the rocks that glisten in rain or snow, thanks for being part of my family. To the mountains, who provide life for all of this beauty…I’m so grateful to be part of your family. The red squirrels who chitter and chatter, I love you brothers and sisters. To the ravens that call out as they soar between ridges….I love you winged ones. All the deer and bears that are shy and usually hide, I know you are there and am grateful to be part of your family. To the grasses and flowering plants, the rhododendrons and mountain laurel, thank you for letting me sit at your table of abundant beauty.
Music of the Spheres
I walked up the rocky hill in blackness. Only a dimmed light pointed at my feet kept me on the path. In the distance I could hear the Atlantic Ocean pounding the cliffs. Rabbits skittered out of the way and cows appeared from the inky night, barely illuminated by the muted light. I was alone, but not really.
The trail was wet and slippery as I neared the arch in the rock wall. I paused to request permission to enter the 5000 year old stone fort and felt no resistance to my being there. I turned off the faint light, walked through the threshold, and felt myself enter a different dimension, one ruled by elemental beings.
The inner circle whispered a welcome, so I walked through the lush grass and found a place to lay down in the center. The only human-created light was a buoy offshore that warned of the cliffs. Dark sky magic weaved me into its spell. But it wasn’t just the stars and planets overhead that awed me, it was everything: Earth Mother anchoring me, wild wind, waves pounding the cliff, and fire of the stars.
As I rested on my back, I felt the reverberation of the ocean through the ground as it shook the bluff. It was as if every blade of grass was vibrating the story of the sea as it embraced the shore of Inis Mor, Ireland. Sky and Earth spiraled through me as I opened to the beauty.
Old metal fence pipes, with holes drilled into them, became flutes for the wind as they stood as sentinels just outside the fort. We are like those ‘flutes,’ available to be instruments of love and light if we simply open and avail ourselves to light, to love, to the Music of the Spheres.
I think Pythagoras had it right when he said the movements of the celestial bodies create a divine, inaudible harmony. The only thing I disagree with is the inaudible part. For times like this morning, when I was reclined under the late night/pre-dawn sky here in the Smoky Mountains, I hear that harmony as it arises within me as a reflection from the heavens.
Awe
There’s a book written on awe and how good it is for us to experience it. Tonight, I left the comfort and warmth of my bed after 10pm because I checked the KP index and it was 9…which is very high and is good news for aurora lovers. I put on snow pants, my big down jacket and grabbed my iPhone. I peeked outside and sure enough, there was a faint red glow. So I grabbed my tripod and got a couple nice shots and realized I had to go into the woods with open fields with north facing views. And am I EVER glad I did.
It’s not easy to go out in below freezing temperatures, but to chase dancing colors in the sky, I had to take the chance.
I went to some fields I know on public land and parked beside the road in three different locations and got some great foreground for variety and saw pillars of light as the color and shape changed from moment-to-moment. Elk were EVERYWHERE at the park entrance which added to the magic but made navigation through the herd quite interesting.
No need to carry on and on about the experience. Let me simply say it was worth spending two hours in below freezing temperatures to witness this and capture the beauty…in some small way.
Sometimes it’s so worth leaving my comfort zone to go explore beauty. I highly recommend it.
The Door is Open
My hound often sits outside the pet door and barks to come inside….when the door has the solid panel removed. I’ll say, “Come on Vernon, the door is open!” And after a few minutes of thought, or something akin to thought, he comes through and climbs into his purple leather recliner.
This morning, one of my cats did Vernon’s version of ‘the door is locked and I can’t get in.’ So I told her, “The door is open!” And she came inside.
This was an unusual behavior as Tawanda is super-smart (not saying Vernon isn’t super-smart…his nose is beyond intelligent). Any time something unusual happens, I stop and pay attention. Especially after the contemplation I had this morning.
I kept hearing: The door is open. Walk through! So I wrote it down and put the paper beside my computer. As I begin the work day, the paper kept staring at me and I remembered a story I shared at a book event this weekend.
I was hiking with a friend up Alum Cave trail to LeConte Lodge. There is a point where the trail flattens out after nearly five miles of climbing. The higher altitude forest opens up and it’s pure magic. Thick carpets of green moss, the smell of balsam fir, beautiful spruce and fir trees create a wonderland of beauty. On our way back from the lodge, I stopped and pulled out a flute and stood in the forest and said… ‘this is for you…thank you.’
As I played the melody, I felt my heart open and then a rush of energy move through me that brought me to tears. There was such connection with the forest. I felt it on a cellular level.
As we hiked down, I contemplated the experience and realized the only thing keeping us from being in such profound harmony with life is ourselves. The forest is always there…open, strong, beautiful. We simply have to open our hearts to feel that Oneness.
In the book event with my friend and writer, Thomas Rain Crowe, I described the forest and flute moment and how I realized that the only thing keeping us from experiencing Oneness was ourselves. And the ‘fix’ is to open our hearts.
To be in Oneness, to feel love and connection, we simply have to open ourselves. We’ve spent years building walls of protection and it was smart to do that when we were kids and trying to grow up and find our way. But as adults, those walls keep us from connecting. We can become addicted to adding to and stabilizing those walls, reinforcing them, to keep ourselves safe. But then, our world becomes smaller and scarier because we’re repeating our fears over and over. The way out of that fear cycle is to find ways to open again. For me, it’s with animals and forests…rivers, the night sky. When I dare to open my heart and listen to the forest, the rivers, wild animals and my own four-legged kiddos, I find I hear again and again, “The Door is open! Walk through!”
—
Misery is found in our self-created prison.
We sit inside the cell and carve days into walls of stone
As the rusted, open door of iron bars silently waits.
A beam of light illuminates the opening
And we marvel at the beauty of it sparkling
In the dungeon of our shadows.
It whispers, The Door is open. Walk through.
By the magic of grace, we walk through the open door
Of our heart and know freedom.
The Door is open. Walk through!
