"Walking is the great adventure, the first meditation, a practice of heartiness and soul primary to humankind. Walking is the exact balance between spirit and humility,"

 - Gary Snyder

It has now been one month since I've completed the John Muir Trail. One month since I stood on top of Mt. Whitney, at 14505', feeling jubilant and crazed with life, set loose like that cold morning wind that tossed my hair and whipped my face. It has been one month now, since descending the highest peak in the lower 48, I walked, finally, through the Whitney Portal and put down my pack for good (or, at least until next time). After hiking 17 miles on that final day, I was altered and in a daze, but when I saw Joe walking up the trail to greet me, I knew I had made it home.  And, yes, of course, even in the midst of all the laughter and kisses there was, and continues to be, an underlying thread of grief of having to leave the mountains behind.  Truthfully, I could have easily turned around and gone out for another month...or two. The temptation of the never-return.  

I loved it. I loved it all. In retrospect, I can even appreciate that with all the snags and difficulties, the nasty blisters, and the discombobulating moments of getting lost and loosing things, it was a true ceremony. The hard times and the pain were perfectly matched by wonder and beauty: The elegant alpine flowers and crystal clear emerald-blue-green lakes, the smooth skin of the glaciated mountains, the electric alpine glow, and the almost frightening bright stars.  As I walked along the trail, even when chatting with other hikers, I often thought to myself, "Treat this as if it were a dream". And it was.

As you may remember from the letter I sent out back in July, right before I began the hike I was in an uncomfortable state of transition. An in-between state of grieving what I had left behind without really knowing what I was moving toward. My intent for this hike was to honor this threshold space that could somehow hold all the scattered pieces within me, and to allow the unknown to make its way into the known in its own right time. Simply put, my intent was to walk to my heart's content without the pressure of having to articulate myself or come to any conclusions. 

Nevertheless, I didn't expect that after 28 days on the trail, I wouldn't return with any conclusions at all. I thought that I'd come back with something to show for my time out there. And people have been asking the god-awful question, "Did you find what you were looking for?"  How could I possibly find what I'm looking for when I don't know what I'm looking for? No. There were no revelations, no earth shattering insights, and certainly no solid decisions about my future.

Rather, what I found myself mostly occupied with, after days and days of walking, was not so much my future plans but the world around me. My inner world started to turn outward. I even felt a little guilty about it sometimes; counting the petals on a flower when I should have been busy solving my personal problems or making plans. But, eventually it became much more satisfying (and a lot more interesting) to focus on the little orchids by the stream than to contemplate the purpose of my life. And, I suppose that the flowers do reflect a greater meaning in their own concrete, yet mysterious way, but the meaning can't be enforced.  

The simplicity of living out of a backpack, putting up a tent, packing and cleaning up camp is so refreshingly true to our human nature! As I bathed myself in the streams and rivers, I noticed the birds were doing the same. As I prepared my breakfast, I watched the birds collecting seeds from the nearby pines. A reminder that us humans are really no different from other life forms. Something slowed down in me so I could take in more of this and, for reasons I can't fully explain, this newly felt awareness has lent itself to joy. I'm not saying that the entire trek was all fun. There were plenty of times when I felt angry or depressed, self-obsessed, or totally discouraged by the blisters on my feet or the cold nights when I just couldn't get warm enough to sleep.  But it is no mystery, really, that such physicality and immersion in the concrete world of things takes on a spiritual dimension (especially for intuitive types, like me, who can be so oblivious to the sensual realm). Perhaps, this is what Jung is referring to when he writes, "nature is not matter only, she is also spirit". I think I get it now, even if just a little, that this concept of Earth-Spirit is not something that can be rationally understood. It has to be felt.

Best of all, I finished the hike with a tremendous gift, which is knowing just how much I am loved. After all the days on the trail, and all the bazillion thoughts, songs, and images that played over and over in my mind, the punch line turned out to be love. This became clear to me on day 23 when Joe, along with our dear friend Wayne, made the tremendous effort to climb the 11,760' Kearsarge Pass to bring me a resupply that would take me through my final five days. We had planned beforehand that we would meet on August 19th at the Kearsarge Lakes trailhead, but after not having any communication for nearly three weeks it seemed unlikely that our timing would match. Furthermore, the weather was stormy with lightening and thunder, offering a very small window of opportunity for anyone to get over the pass. But, as if by a miracle - and it really felt like a miracle - we met each other at the designated crossroads within thirty minutes of each other! My heart nearly leapt out of my chest with joy when I saw those two ex-hippie looking characters, with way too large packs, gingerly walking down the very steep slope of the pass. And when they finally appeared in full form, exhausted but smiling, they pulled out gifts - a real turkey sandwich, a can of coconut water, and ... drum roll ... a bottle of red wine! We had a feast. A love feast. And, we were awestruck. As with any true ceremony, we reached beyond the veil of our humanness and touched upon the realm of the gods.

I know it sounds a bit cliché to say that it's all about love, but even Carl Jung reminds us that there can be no meaning, no apperception of life's great mystery, nor even the possibility of individuation without love's intervention. Actually, it's a pretty radical idea for our time. 

"Love 'bears all things' and 'endures all things' (1 Cor. 13: 7 ). 

These words say all there is to be said; nothing can be added to them. For we are in the deepest sense the victims and the instruments of cosmogonic 'love.' I put the word in quotation marks to indicate that I do not use it in its connotations of desiring, preferring, favoring, wishing, and similar feelings, but as something superior to the individual, a unified and undivided whole" (MDR, 353-4).

As a victim of love, I wish to express my love and gratitude to all of you. Thank you for holding me in your thoughts, for taking the time to send your encouraging words, and for opening your heart to me so willingly. And I wish to express a special appreciation for Joe, who has a capacity for love that continues to shake me up and startle me out of my usual slumbering state. May I never again frown in the face of love.

Betsy Perluss