but their own, that the body may be said to think. Each sense heightened to its most exquisite
awareness is in itself total experience. This is the innocence we have lost,
living in one sense at a time to live all the way through.”
— Nan Shepherd
I was up before dawn again, determined to get a photo of the sunrise over Mt. Shasta. I hustled down to the Altar with 10-15 minutes to spare, and confirmed that two weeks after the summer solstice, the sun rises just a few degrees south of the peak of the dormant volcano. I got my photos, then spent a long time just enjoying the subtle changes in light and color at that unique time of day, when the part of the earth on which I was sitting rotated around to glimpse the sun at an oblique angle. Then Quinn, one of the fisher dudes, arrived with a tripod… too late to snap the sunrise pic. He was about Logan’s age, and wanted to work for BLM or Fish & Game, and was greatly respectful of the wilderness. I was impressed that he had listened yesterday when I informed him of the spectacular sunrise to be viewed from this spot. As it turned out, he and his younger friends were just the type of wood-folk worthy of visiting the cave at Baggins End.
After breakfast I moseyed over to their camp and dropped my line casually, as if casting a lure into a school of young trout: “You guys wanna see the cave?” They were all stunned to hear that an elaborate cave existed just a stone’s throw from where they all sat, and I guided them directly to the entrance. With all five of us inside, it was the most people assembled in that unlikely shelter in years – and they were suitably impressed to learn the existence of a hidden shelter in a jumble of rocks, with a built-in fireplace, plenty of ventilation, and enough dry, level floor space to sleep five or six people. My heart glowed to pass on the secret to a new generation. For at least the fiftieth time, I was flabbergasted all over again with the eerie sense that something had designed and built that shelter! The spelunkers formerly known as fisher dudes happily poked around the crevices, squeezed through the cracks, and clambered all over the unusual rock formations nearby.
With my duty as campground host fulfilled, I packed up a few odds and ends and headed for the wild side of the basin: the cliffs below Sphinx Rock. Long have I walked those broken ledges and boulders through field glasses only! Today would be the first time I actually explored those lonely crags, cliffs, and clefts. My plan was to maintain altitude from Wee Bear, on a transverse course to where the big trees grew. I told the fisher dudes where I was going, but they preferred dipping their lines to scrambling over more rocks (and who could blame them?). Determined to exercise great caution in my movements and choice of pathways, I headed down to the foot of Dat Butte. On the way I met two female day hikers arriving at Wee Bear Lake for a swim. They were a bit surprised and disappointed to see me, thinking they had the idyllic resort all to themselves. Knowing how many folks had already visited, I laughed and asked if they had signed up for the online waiting list. They looked at me kind of funny, smiling politely but without much enthusiasm, and the odd little mountain man shuffled away to his crags.
I followed the creases in the massive stone butte, staying above the more difficult clefts in the rock. A familiar phenomenon gripped me as soon as I was away from the influence of other people. My mind, brain, and entire nervous system merged with the landscape I was navigating. I call it mindwalking. It’s a meditation, but not the passive, relaxing kind. There is struggle, and challenge, and great reward for the steadfast heart. The farther I got from the lakes, the deeper the stillness became. The concave ledges stepping down from the cliffs of Cheops were littered with jagged, broken boulders ranging from the size of appliances to as big as a house, and here and there a shattered tree offered mute testament to their violence. The exposed flank of the mountain spoke to me through its raw austerity, and I got the impression of a very ancient temple from a forgotten time, which had crumbled over the centuries to block all entrances. I imagined there could be a way in somewhere, and angled up to the base of the cliffs wherever convenient, searching for a cave or crevice. The opening was not within my power to find, reminiscent of the magic door for which Frodo, Gandalf, and the dwarves searched in The Hobbit, in order that they might gain entry to the Lonely Mountain. Up against the cliffs, the air became focused and apprehensive, as an amphitheater is poised for the concert to begin. I could hear snatches of distant voices from across the wide basin, but could not locate their source. The whole area was permeated by a living calm and tranquility that was also forlorn and shattered, due to the many shards and boulders that had fallen from the cliffs above over the eons. Some evoked mystery as pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and it became a game to squint upwards into the sun, and search for the empty place from which they fell. In a fitting way, I felt as if I belonged there, wandering the broken places like a woebegone spirit.
In such a wild and lonesome spot, it was easy to imagine I was the only person left in the world. If that were true, then, I had better learn to love myself, because that would be my only companion! In reality, each of us is alone on this earth: imprisoned in our own subjective experience, and while it’s easy to say we love ourselves, it is very difficult indeed to behave as if that were true. Most of us are emotionally traumatized, and thwart our own attempts to grow from within. I reflected on my own childhood, searching for the origin of my feelings of isolation. A child needs to feel loved the way a seedling needs water to survive, but what happens if none is received? The seedling withers and dies, and returns to the soil from which it grew. Lonely children have no easy escape; however, and usually continue their growth in an emotionally desolate environment until the ability to recognize and accept love is dried up and decomposed. I understood that if I was to truly love myself in a constructive, meaningful way, it had to be right now; in every present moment. One cannot love the shadows of the past, nor the dreams of the future. The functional unit of life is the here and now. It contains all of its existence in a field of potential, as an atom holds its evanescent components. I watched a butterfly land on a nearby purple daisy. Her beautiful, multicolored wings were rather beat up and torn, and yet she still tried to fulfill her purpose. She, too, was perfect in her imperfection.
What are the actions in the present moment that support a commitment to love oneself? For the love of a child, you would not put them in situations that could be harmful to them, either physically or emotionally. You wouldn’t constantly tell them they aren’t good enough; that what they think and feel doesn’t matter. Just as with raising a child, the care and feeding of the Self requires recognition of the “educable moments” when positive reinforcement can make the difference between lessons learned, or shortcomings strengthened. Another example is how you interact with your pets. When training a companion animal, love works better than fear, and the same is true for yourself. Consistent, repetitive commands – at the moment when they can make the most difference – are crucial to successful growth. Reinforce the positive with praise, and firmly rebuke the negative with respect and tolerance, then patiently resume the training. Try to catch yourself doing things right. In those moments when communication breaks down, and the subject is hard to reach, a strong, nonjudgmental hug can be the best means of reassurance. I hug myself a lot.
Apart from a figurative embrace, what are the essential elements of non-physical love, and how might I apply them to myself in real time, so they regulate conduct? When a child misbehaves, one dislikes the bad behavior but still loves the child. I had to learn to love myself in the same way. My worth as a human being is not reduced by inappropriate actions taken to assuage the ego. The intrinsic value of the soul is timeless, and eternally preserved. And yet, each of us is a small, insecure child deep down inside, hoping to merit love and approval. This, then is our challenge: to find that needy child within and lift it up to where it feels authentically validated in every moment. For if we see ourselves as the young, innocent souls we truly are, we are closer to finding the true Self.
I found more spectacular wildflowers on the steep face of the mountain, owing to its northern exposure and greater moisture. Penstemon, Hawksbeard, Saxifrage, Pussypaw, Stonecrops, and a half dozen other varieties of bizarre nomenclature clamored for attention. Where the blossoms clustered together in arrangements pleasing to the eye, they exuded a friendly attitude of welcome to bees and backpackers alike. Not all of them were exemplary floral specimens, for life is hard in the mountains, and a crumpled leaf or missing petal revealed their struggles. And yet, each of them reached for the sun without shame or self-judgment – something I, too, would do well to learn. I had learned their names from guide books of the flora and fauna of the Trinity Alps, but recalled enjoying them just as much – perhaps more – before they had a taxonomy in my head. Without labels or classification, it’s easier to coexist on equal terms.
I zig-zagged up or down as the view suited me, and wound up writing while perched on a shady granite bench, at exactly the level of the Altar. I projected the appearance of a humble scribe at the feet of the pharaohs, as I contemplated their timeless purview. In between fractured scribbles I guzzled the magnificent, 180-degree vistas from Altamira to the southwest, all the way on down the valley to the northeast. Mt. Shasta was cut off from view, or the spectacle might have been too much to withstand without falling off my rock. I was ensconced on the remnant sloping walls of an ancient, massive volcano that blasted apart millions of years ago, and poured its lava into an unimaginable maelstrom. In contrast, a cool breeze refreshed as it dried the sweat of participation from my shirt, and I relocated to a sunny spot from which I could peer up to where Wee Bear and Little Bear lakes lay hidden from view. My eye naturally scouted the best route “home” from there, following a green gully choked with healthy trees and thick brush, directly back to the Beater Cedar. All I had to do was walk, breathe, concentrate, and be conscious of needless risks. There was no clock, no agenda, and no hurry whatsoever. I had all day to get back to camp!
I found an easy way across the bushes and worked my way up the gully, marveling at the sense I was perambulating around the upper deck of a stadium, gazing down on the lush, green playing field. Fifteen hundred feet below, the trees in the valley had the texture of a shag carpet. The sky was as clear as I had seen it in many years, with no signs of smoke or haze. The purple ridges marched away to the north towards Mt. Eddy, bare and bereft of color on the horizon. At the cleft where the trickle from Wee Bear makes a hard right turn, and heads for the ocean hundreds of miles away, I discovered a hidden treasure: a modest but beautiful waterfall that I instinctively dubbed “Fairy Falls.” It dropped about 25 feet in two distinct sections, on angled stair steps of granite. The lower part consisted of two thin threads of water in free fall, one for maybe three feet, and another perhaps five. Above this was a series of troughs and smaller ledges, down which the sparkling water gurgled and glistened in the sunlight. All of that precocious energy descended into a round pool around eight feet in diameter, with a sandy bottom on which one might cool one’s abused buttocks on a hot day… if one could reach it, that is. The access was difficult without crushing plants, and a few angry bumblebees warned me I was approaching too close to their nest, so I admired it from a respectful distance. It was a marvel beyond reasonable comprehension to consider that after so many journeys up to this magical playground, I could still discover new and enchanted places I had never seen before! Had they always been there, or did I create them now with an accumulated energy of affinity?
The Beater Cedar was just 100 yards above Fairy Falls, but was rather difficult to reach by a direct route. I expended a lot more energy than I had planned to reach it, but my legs and hips were holding up really well! The foot was no longer a concern, as it had completely healed from the nail puncture wounds. I chose my paths and footholds carefully, cutting across sloping granite to reduce the angle whenever possible. On the way back to camp, I came across another couple casually lounging in hammocks right next to the shore of Wee Bear, where they had an excellent view of Mt. Shasta! They were so much in awe of the scenery that they could hardly speak… or perhaps they had just partaken of something to achieve a “mountain high.” Many people were learning to love this place! But only a few would stay more than a couple of hours, or experience the unique, transitional rhythms of twilight and dawn. The majority just consumed the scenery like a wilderness post on Facebook, and gave it a thumbs up or smiley face emoji. I waved cheerfully at their awestruck inability to form a coherent sentence, and continued back to camp. The sun was at its zenith when I arrived, shining straight down through the trees. First, I performed a few mosquito-free chores and then took the weight off my feet, cradling a cup of strong, steaming coffee. A nap would have been nice, too, but I didn’t want to waste any time lying on a sleeping bag, when there was just so much to see! I could hear the double-dads and their sons circumnavigating the lake somewhere high above, and I tried to locate them with my field glasses. In my peripheral vision, I glimpsed a large bird soaring high above the lake, and swung my glasses around just in time for a clear identification. A bald eagle! On the Fourth of July, no less! The gods surely had a patriotic sense of humor! The bird disappeared quickly over the rim, no doubt wary of the noisy boys somewhere just below the top of Altamira. It was the first time I had ever observed our country’s mascot up at the lakes. Another first. Quinn later informed me the family campers had a fire last night, and that was terrible because there were fire restrictions in place, and the forest in which they were breaking the law was a veritable tinder box of pitchy deadfalls, dry sticks, and crispy needles. Also, I was the idiot who told them about that spot yesterday!
The wind picked up again in the afternoon, with the petulance of a toddler who gets restless and bored with his toys. A change was in the air. Not just a change in the weather, mind you, but this year would also see many fundamental alterations in our society. I reflected that my career wasn’t really sustainable for the 8-10 years it would take to reach retirement. Simply put, the clients who pay for software development might have other priorities in an economic crisis. The winds of change made waves on the surface of the lake, but wherever they passed, they sparkled like diamonds. It’s possible the coming flux will create a new environment in which I could fashion a way to live more in the outdoors, where things make sense. Across the lake, a thousand faces in the wall smiled knowingly. So far, Joy and I were not only surviving, but actually thriving in the hugely disrupted economy of the coronavirus. There will be great challenges ahead for our country, including medical, political, economic, and social upheaval the likes of which haven’t been seen since the Civil War. Whatever happens, the way of life that has dominated America for generations will not be seen again. My hope is that we get good leaders to set us on a new course, one which includes prosperity, justice, health, and responsibility for all living things. We still have time to come together globally as a unified humanity, to win the greatest challenges our species has ever faced. Make no mistake – we are in the midst of an evolutionary challenge that will become part of our genetic memory. But time is slipping away so quickly, as we are distracted by our shiny toys and petty differences. The possibility exists that we may not marshal our forces in time against the biggest threat: ourselves. For, if we cannot get this one thing right – to take good care of our only home – then all the other challenges will be trivial by comparison. As I have written before, we don’t need to save the earth… it can do quite well without us. All we need to do is leave it alone, and let it return to balance. The astonishing, unprecedented evolution of Homo sapiens has brought us to the brink of an extinction event of our own making, and we could wind up either waving our flags in triumph, or exuberantly burning ourselves out like fireworks.
“We have met the enemy, and he is us.”
— Walt Kelly (Pogo)