We began walking in the gray, pre-dawn light. The air was chilly, but not cold. The sound of the creek tumbling over boulders and smaller rocks provided our hiking music. I was excited to share this magical trail with a dear friend, visiting from the coast of Alabama.
The day before, we hiked in freezing temperatures up the Bypass Trail at Kuwohi and then on to Andrews Bald. We shared deep soul conversation as we enjoyed the fir and spruce forest. This day, we were silent as we began the ascent. That silence opened a doorway for complete peace to be birthed.
In the weeks leading up to the very polarized election, we were experiencing stress, anxiety, and all the other feelings that occur when democracy is at stake. The forest embraced us in its silence and soothed our ragged emotions.
At one point, we stopped and just breathed with the trees. It’s a powerful practice to do solo; however, having a soul-sister join in the mindfulness practice made it magical. Imagine if more of us practiced breathing together…add the trees and we’d light up the world.
Now, two days after the election, I give space for my sadness and deep grief. I think back to the stillness we found on the trail last Sunday. I know I’ll return there this weekend to walk to the top of the mountain, through the enchanted trees, seeking peace and stillness they offer. But today, I’m there in my mind, breathing with trees that remind me that in this moment, I am okay—our country is okay. One breath at a time, we’ll find our way.
There have been so many images and reports of horrendous destruction. Absolute unbelievable loss of property and life…and more lives will be reported lost as recovery efforts continue. Helene showed us how dangerous hurricanes can be, hundreds of miles from landfall.
It’s been challenging to wrap my brain around this happening within miles from my home. Power never went out for me, I just lost cell phone service for several days. Places near me had flooding: Bryson City, Dillsboro, and Cherokee, but none of it was serious…not compared to Waynesville, just a bit further east. Or Asheville. Spruce Pine. Crusco. Canton. Marshall. Black Mountain. Swannanoa. And so many more places. Being in the eye of the storm had definite advantages this time and the east side…the ‘bad’ side…was certainly the wrong side of the storm to be on.
I used to live in one of the hardest hit areas. Many of my friends still live there. They are suffering. Friends in Asheville…suffering. Business owners, people with missing or dead members of their family/friend group…suffering. It’s challenging to know how to deal with something of this magnitude affecting so many.
So, I’ve done the only thing I know to do to find balance: I’ve gone deeper into Nature. Last weekend, it was a hike up Kuwohi. And Thursday night, it was a drive up Kuwohi to see the aurora.
I stood outside, under a canopy of stars, and tried to stay warm in the near-freezing temperatures. The hazy red glow of the aurora and the occasional white streaks of light, kept me transfixed, completely focused on the sky.
I spent about an hour at the large parking lot and then moved my car down the mountain, little-by-little, where I would stop for half an hour or more. I’d open the moon roof and my window and prop my phone on the mirror, the side of the car, or on top of the roof and take 10 second exposures. My entire focus was on being still and receiving beauty.
One parking place had a small trickle of water dripping down the side of the mountain. I sat inside my car and felt the mountain’s presence with me. It was as if an elder was sitting with me observing the beauty, helping me stay present.
I didn’t want to drive home, but after four hours of cold, I needed to get warm. And it was midnight. But one last treat awaited me on the way home.
Bull elk had blocked the road with their sparring. They were bugling and claiming their cows as the aurora lit up the sky. Seemed sort of a perfect way to end the evening.
Beauty has helped bring me into balance. Hiking last weekend, up the By-Pass Trail to the summit, was powerful. The summit was totally covered by the clouds, but the clouds were exactly what I needed: to feel contained.
Thursday night, the sky was crystal clear so the aurora and stars…the Milky Way…helped me expand again and begin to open to beauty…to life.
Sometimes it’s difficult to embrace beauty. When we’ve seen the ugly side of life, beauty can feel overwhelming. But at some point, we need the healing effects of beauty. Because that, too, is a part of life.
Image by Randy Ratliff, Hiking the Smokies FB group, not the snake I met.
A sharp, electrical buzz sounded, like a switch being flipped, about ten feet in front of my forward-moving boots. It stopped me like a stone wall. The unmistakable buzzzzzzzzz of a timber rattlesnake.
Besides fear, I could feel the power of the rattlesnake. It claimed the trail with unmistakable authority.
Image by Randy Ratliff, from Hiking the Smokies FB group, not the snake I met.
The snake’s rattle repeatedly came to mind each time I practiced chanting and singing this past week. The voice is a way we claim our personal sovereignty with unmistakable authority, just like a rattlesnake uses its ‘voice.’
A week after the encounter with the powerful rattlesnake, I was hiking on another trail and discovered a rattlesnake that had been crushed. I stood over the lifeless body, deeply saddened by the silencing of the beautiful snake’s ‘voice.’ The contrast between the electrifying buzzzzzz and the silence was profound.
I recently made a comment about personal appearance after hiking with other women. I said it was nice to hike with women who didn’t care about their appearance. Obviously, what I meant to say was, It’s nice to be outdoors with women who are not freaking out because their make-up got smeared, their colors don’t match, or their stomach isn’t as flat as it used to be. Or something like that. Perhaps I should have said, I don’t care about my appearance when hiking, I just want to be comfortable.
For my entire life, I have never been overly concerned about caking on make-up or wearing the proper colors or styles. I want to be clean and comfortable. I figured if people don’t like what I wear or what I look like, they shouldn’t hang out with me. I refuse to be overly concerned about things that used to drive me to unhealthy behaviors. The greatest compliment I can offer someone is to be 100% myself with them, without pretense, without caring that the age spots on my face look more scary every day. Or my mid-section is fuller than it was when I was starving myself. As Popeye the Sailor said, I yam who I yam.
In a time when everyone seems so addicted to being offended about everything, I’m relieved to find people who understand that not everything is about them. Not every comment is a criticism. I’m just happy I can put on my shorts, shirt, sports bra, wool socks, boots, and pack or fly fishing gear and enjoy the woods without worrying whether the fashion police will be ticketing women who aren’t perfect in shape, weight, hair, and makeup.
I am more concerned about what’s happening in my heart, my friend’s heart’s, than what any of us wear or what we look like. Haven’t women evolved past that? I sure hope so.
In the pale light of dawn, I slipped on my pack and stepped into darkness of the forest. The creek sang sweetly with enhanced volume from recent rain. Little juncos fluttered to life from the grayscale hues of the rocky trail. Sorry to disturb you, I whispered, as I walked past.
Elemental forces seemed to hang in the humid air, awaiting acknowledgement. Water seeped and trickled from crevices and spongy, moss-covered ground. Air was enriched with sweet, forest fragrances. Fire of my muscles ignited my body as I began to climb. Earth anchored me to Her with gravitational hugs. Oneness…everything interwoven. In the dim light, I sang and chanted to pay respect…and let bears know I was passing through their home.
In that gloomy light, the log bridge–spanning the creek and leading to the dark passage underground–reminded me of crossing the River Styx to enter the Underworld where, in Greek mythology, Charon leads souls of the dead. The hike up Mt. Le Conte can certainly feel like a death. Or a series of little deaths as it presents its many challenges to ascending.
Being present with the physical challenges led me to listen to my body on a deep level. My awareness moved back and forth from the beauty all around me to the depths of my body… heart, lungs, muscles, knees, feet…and how to coordinate the physical self as it works to ascend.
Before long, I was under the Alum Cave overhang. Drops of water showered me as they fell from the cliff face. After nearly two miles of uphill hiking, it felt wonderfully refreshing. Only one other person was there in the dust of the ‘cave,’ so the solitude and quiet of this special place was absolute. The magnitude of power held within the formation was easily felt as I sat on a rock and ate a snack. It’s good to feel small sometimes.
After my brief repast, I felt ready to begin the truly challenging part of the ascent. Refueled to replace calories and hydrated to replace the sweat rolling down my body, I begin the hard part of the climb.
With sheer cliff faces, ledges, roots…all slick with recent rain…the only focus was the moment. Not what was happening in the chaotic world or with anyone else, only what was happening in the small space around me as I hiked up…up…up. Perhaps that’s why I love hiking so much, especially challenging hikes—I must be present. Completely. Totally. And how wonderful it is to be so grounded in the Now.
Even though clouds threatened to hide the views, the Cliff Tops offered a gorgeous perspective for life. Clouds drifted by revealing distant views, closer ridges, and a sea of green. I stood on the rocky cliff, taking it all in, breathing with the clouds. Wanting to expand to take the splendor into every cell of my body.
This then is the way of ascension: go into the darkness, cross the void, climb harder than you’ve ever climbed, be open to receive. And…don’t be afraid to go alone. For truly, we are never alone.
