Death of my Cell Phone

While spending some time in Northern California this week I had the pleasure of walking out into the ocean on a jetty - a pile of rocks and concrete that marks the entrance to Humboldt Bay in Eureka, just south of Arcata, where I attended college on a few occasions. The Jetty is flat on top and lined with old rotting railroad ties. I walked with my old friend, Jefferey. The surf was stormy and sloppy and did not look that great so we left our boards at the car and walked out on the jetty, white and green waves crashing around us as we ambled. Periodically, unpredictable explosions of frothing surf splashed the jetty liberally. 

One such wave exploded right above me as we were walking back toward the beach.  It was upon me before I knew it.  I felt my down jacket and cotton pants push into my body with the force of the water as my entire right side was soaked by the sea. A thundering cascade of oceanic negative ions!! Such a gift! 

A few moments later I noticed my cell phone in my right pocket making some urgent vibrations and then... cellular stillness. I tried to dry it best I could, but it seemed to have died, not responding to my urgent power-button pressing. 

My phone did die. And with it went my ability to connect via cell phone until I get a new one. So, I am currently phone-less — soon to be remedied but it is an interesting thing to be phoneless. I have gotten used to having that connection. It was taken so quickly by the ocean. A tool, so integral to how I communicate and connect with my people - gone in a splash. 

Perhaps with less cellular connection I will be freed up to make more sensual, earth connections. I feel grateful for the loss of my phone actually. It is nice to be without it for a while. And the experience of being on the Jetty, with my old friend, Jefferey, surrounded on three sides by the surging power of the stormy Pacific — that was worth it. It was a great walk. 

Eel River Cobra

Sitting on the banks of the South Fork Eel River below the Highway 1 bridge near Leggett California. Currently on the All Terrain Mat in the shade of some alders, cottonwoods, and of course the Redwood trees. THe river whispers and murmers to my right. I sit naked after a swim.

I remember kayaking this section many years ago - the large house-sized, metamorphosed boulders - white and black stripes of chert-like dark rock - the pillows they threw up were beautiful arcing airplane turns in a kayak. The River was high - had to be for that section -- the put-in was on Rattlesnake Creek -- south from here, just north of Laytonville. The waves and holes were massive as I remember - rocketting down through the rainy green gorge - bathed in the mist of thrashing water. 

It's not high now. It's more creek-like. There is much algal growth in its waters. Small river worms are stuck to my hairs -the suit of red hair that I wear. Some little riparian nematodes have hitched a ride on my filaments. They have reached out and made contact. They are life from the river which is an artery in the body of the earth from which I just emerged. . . 

I experiment with the current as I often do in gentle rivers like this. I immerse myself belly down, facing upstream, gripping slippery rocks and pulling myself further up into the current. I navigate as a prone and flowing river creature, pulling myself across the current into the central flow of the river where it is most powerful. I then point my feet together and let them be swept straight downstream aligning my spine with the flow of the more powerful force of the water. I grip two rocks that are a little more than my shoulder's width apart and arch my back, opening my chest and heart to the current. The water pulses and surges against the skin of my chest as I arch upwards, bringing, my head back, opening into "cobra", a yoga pose - a back bend. This opens my heart and body to the water. It does. No metaphor.

Cobra in the River brings the waters energy straight into my chest - into my heart. I do not have any science to prove this, but I feel that there in that pose and with the right frame of mind , I can feel more open to the spirit - the essence of the water - and with that comes the wisdom and the substance of all the land upstream - all of the detritus, the grains of sand, insect bodies, fish poo and pee, raindrops, snowflakes, sunshine, sacred ancient groundwater, pure flowing spirit river - the redwood forests, the bears, the lions, the racoons, beavers, eagles and coyotes of that upper drainage - I open my heart to all of that and welcome it into my chest. 

Rivers are collectors - sacred dust-bins. They are synthesizers, dissolvers, decomposers, eroders. They bring all of these gifts, blessings, bits of everything — down and through this canyon. So I, floating in cobra pose with my chest and heart open to that flow, I receive that - I receive all those gifts and that essence. And that essence speaks and moves as LIFE. The life of the planet.

Soaking in Earth blood. Soaking in a vein of the sacred body of the Earth. 

 

Kelp Connection

Sitting on a surfboard in afternoon sunshine

Saying a prayer to the ocean and offering up some grief. . 

Thinking about those things and beings that have recently passed. . . 

Deaths happen every day. . . . and the grief has to come. . . 

it has to move through and be felt - and be recognized. There can be wailing. Tearing of hair. Pounding of fist. Make a lotta grief...let it out...

... to make room for the praise and the beauty. Some say that if we don't grieve properly if we don't loosen that sadness and let it move through us,  we are not going to make room for the praise and the beauty and the honey of this world to flow.  WIthout grief there can be no praise. 

Riding up and down with the salty swell. . 

Seaweed tickles my feet. 

The tendrils of nature. 

The mycellial web with fingers and fibrousness.. . . 

LEt that come and connect me. . I think of the web of the filamental and the denritic and the fliuid filled and the fleshiness of it all - I marvel at the veins in leaves - appreciating the delicate nature of their filamental patterns. . . like my brochioles, the finest dendritic, branching pathways of gas exchange in my lungs. 

 And I understand that with each breath air penetrates and nourishes my body- the life giving gasses that comprise the atmosphere of this green earth, giving life, enabling me to breathe, to push blood,  water, lymph, cerebral spinal fluid through vast, inctricate highways of tubes, ducts, cells, vessels, arteries, and veins. When I feel that deeply, I can walk in the forest with bare feet and feel, see and know that my feet with their cords of tendon and ropes of muscle are like the roots of the trees, like the veins in the leaves, the spongy flesh of the forest floor, intricately infused with the dendritic filamental fog of the mycellial web - and through that web flows the nutrients and the blood of the forest. 

While floating in the ocean on a surfboard

Kelp tickles me.

Fleshy broad leaves brush against my calf 

I feel a spark between us - an electric recognition

My feet, in kelp, my lungs in salt air. Sitting in the sea.

Earth,Moon, Tidal, SEA FORCE flows up through the kelp and into me. 

Inhale. Raise arms slowly. The connection deepens. I keep breathing slowly. Inhale. receive. it is your journey. Unblock the feedback loops - talk to eachother. Listen to eachother. 

Good listening. 

Good listening. 

Step Into Nature by Patrice Vecchione

Two weeks ago I was in Santa Cruz, California, surfing twice a day and visiting with an old friend. I heard a woman writer being interviewed on the local public radio station one afternoon and felt moved by the tone of her voice so I turned the volume up and sat and listened more carefully.

Patrice Vecchione is a writer, painter, collagist, poet, and storyteller. Her most recent book, Step Into Nature, is my current inspiration. She writes about a six month period in which she walked in nature every day, then came home to her writing spot in front of her fireplace and created. She opened herself to the creative, generative, spiritually-charged geology of the Monterey Peninsula in California and followed that muse, creating from there. 

She encourages me to surrender to the chaos of nature and the "wilderness" of the creative process— to embrace and celebrate the ever changing, continuous flow of life, to accept disorder, the fickle nature of the Muse, especially those times when it lies dormant. 

She is comfortable with the messyness of nature and the beautiful jumble that it is. She seems to take it as permission to follow her own seemingly messy, chaotic creative process, allowing herself to make mistakes and to create for the sake of creating. She allows her pen, her brush, her scissors and glue to move the way they want to. She follows her creative urges and feelings to take her to more authentic expressions while sitting at the feet of nature - the original teacher and, original artist. 

I highly recommend her book. In reading it and reflecting on her ideas I have become more sensitive to Nature and find myself longing for more teachings from it. I am a more apt Nature Pupil, having read, reflected, chewed and swallowed some of Patrice Vecchione's ideas and words. 

Good, nourishing creative Food. 

Om-ing in a cave in the desert.

While climbing Ubehebe Peak last month in Death Valley our group stopped in a friendly cave to escape the barrage of desert sunshine. 

Our hearts and eyes, filled with the grandeur of mult-colored mountains that surrounded us and on which we stood. The wind blew softly. We sat in the shade of that shallow cave, more of an overhang under which we sat, gazing for many miles through pristine clarity of desert air. 

Together we exhaled deeply. 

Then inhaled. Them Omed three times. 

Om.  Om.   Om.  

It rumbled in our chests, through-out our bodies, echoed off the walls, bounced back and through us to the expanse beyond. 

After the last Om, the silence came and enveloped us in a loving, palpable embrace. The sound-waves still moving through our flesh. We sat and looked. We sat and witnessed. 

Om. Om. Om. 

Earth to the Sun. We are One. We are one. We are one.  

 

Mindful Mountain Biking

Mindful Mountain Biking

I was mountain biking earlier this week in Bend, Oregon. The ponderosa/volcanic/sage-brush landscape of the high desert is ideal for riding mountain bikes and it is quite popular there. Many riders on shiny new bikes in shiny new outfits, encrusted with the latest computers, heart rate monitors, and sunglasses.  There are numerous trails to enjoy - great riding. 

I noticed that when I ride my bike, especially when climbing up-hill, I get focussed on the project of getting up the hill as fast as I can. My focus narrows onto the trail and I stop looking around. I put my head down, spin my legs and push myself as fast as I can as my heart beats faster and harder.

 Lately I have been getting into something different. 

Mindful Mountain Biking (MMB) 

I've been conscioulsy slowing down, looking around as I climb through the shoulder-high manzanita forests. When I relax into the climb ahead, I see more — appreciate more — enjoy it more. I'm not going for a personal best. Climbing like this I am able to receive more from my surroundings. I am softer and more open as I pedal slowly up the red and dusty trail, my heart beating reasonably in my chest.

I see the climbs now as opportunities for beauty hunting: scanning the forest for unique patterns, shades of light, flowers, creatures on wing and paw. 

I often stop in the middle of my ride and sit or lie on the Earth and drop into my breath. 

Mountain biking is but one "adventure sport" of the modern era. Sometimes skiers, bikers, kayakers, runners, climbers, and mountaineers become fascinated with efficiency, speed, and personal bests. 

Today I am speaking for slowness and contemplation and reflection when we are out there in those incredible places. No need to always race through. 

Next time you are on a run, a ride, a walk, a ski — try slowing down. Maybe even stop and lie down on the Earth. Appreciate the wonder and beauty of the place. Feel the spirit, love, and connection. Soak into some mindful presence. 

Earth Day 2015

May this be a day of reverence, of listening, of quietness, understanding, and recognition.

A day for clean rivers and strong, tall trees. A day for remembering, coming home to the one body we are.

Pale Blue Dot in a vast, cold void.

Spaceship Earth. Home Earth. 

Mother Earth. 

A day to breathe deep. 

To drink deep. 

BE deep. 

Inside the Earth. A cell in that body. 

May you Dance and bring beauty. Burn bright. Act your age. 

You're as old as first cellular life in primordial soup and you know how to celebrate. 

Now go do it. 

Professional Development

I have spent the last three days with my people. My people are guides and nature teachers. They are risk managers and Wilderness First Responders, medics, EMT's and WEMT's. They are dreamers and visionaries, logisticians, and fecal technicians, They are adventurers and storytellers, mothers, fathers, lovers, feelers, tree huggers, mountaineers, explorers, scientists, compassionists. They wear puffy down jackets, river sandals, and take notes in small notebooks, they wear sunglasses and warm hats, and drink tea and coffee from re-usable mugs encrusted with stickers about things they use or believe in or both. They are free spirits that sleep on the ground with regularity and take care of their clients and students in the most adverse situations. They are my people. I am proud to be among their ranks. I got to be with them this weekend here in Bend, Oregon in a barn and the surrounding grassy forested world of a city park. We were there for three days, practicing our skills and honing the craft of keeping people safe and well cared for when exploring and learning and growing out beyond the THRESHOLD, We learned what to do in case things go wrong out there— how to reduce dislocations, build splints for broken arms and legs, how to stay warm, to stay cool, to stay calm when helping someone injured, afflicted with anaphalaxys, ectopic pregnancy, epiditimitis, asthma, abrasion, laceration, avulsion, viper or brown recluse bite, burns of all kinds. Together we gathered and we reviewed and we trained and we learned, writing SOAP notes, evacuation plans, and email addresses so that we might stay in touch and keep learning from eachother in these moments that come after - after we leave eachother's company to go to the far corners, to Smith Rock, Yosemite, Joshua tree, Antarctica, Denali, Greenland, Sierra, Wind River, Nova Scotia, Sisters Oregon. Now we are finished. Now we go on to do our work the way we do it in our communities that are lucky enough to have us. We go out and we go forth to do the WORK. The WORK of guiding and teaching and holding the space for others so that they might find the peace, the connection, the truth of membership in this great fluid filled body that we share called EARTH. 

Feeding the Metabolic Fire: Sleeping Warm 102

Another way to stay warm in addition to using a hot water bottle is to eat right for warmth.

My metabolism and yours are essentially fires that burns within our bodies to generate the energy and power we need to live, learn, think, feel and grow.

Just like building a fire in the fireplace, a wood stove, or in a circle of rocks at a campground, there is a more successful way to build that fire so that it roars to life and burns brightly. You have to put the right materials in at the right times to ensure an enduring fire.

Just as with a fire of flames, the fire in ones belly must be started with something that burns quickly - like newspaper or dried pine needles, leaves and grasses. For the metabolism that would be SUGAR. Sugar catches fast and burns brightly in the metabolic fireplace. So, start with sugar.

The next layer of burnable material after the paper is the small stick layer. For the metabolism this is carbohydrates: grains, bread, pasta - things of that nature.

After the fire is burning well with the paper (sugar), and sticks (carbos) it is time to lay on a few logs so that fire burns slowly and steadily throughout the night. Metabolic logs are fats. Things like cheese, salami, butter, oils.

So to get warm fast using this technique you want to eat a handful of M&Ms, drink some hot chocolate, or maybe a dollop of honey (newspaper). Then eat some carbos - a bagel, some crackers or pasta. Then after you have digested some of that you want to eat a nice hunk of cheese, salami, or some butter.

You would not want to try and warm up by eating cheese first  - that would be like putting a big log in the fireplace and trying to light it with a match - probably won't catch and keep you warm. If you start your metabolic fire with sugar, then carbohydrates and then move into the fats you will have a stronger and more guaranteed blaze.

So if it is a cold night and you want to sleep warm try to incorporate this kind of snacking strategy before climbing into your sleeping bag.

SO, the whole system to guarantee a warm and restful sleep would be:
1) heat water for a hot water bottle.
2) do some jumping jacks, pushups, or run in place for a while as the water boils.
3) Pour the hot water into a Nalgene bottle and put it in your sleeping bag.
4) eat some sugar, then carbos, then fats.
5) wear a warm hat
6) jump in your bag.

If for some reason you are still not warm or if you wake up in the middle of the night and are feeling cold, do some sit-ups while inside your sleeping bag and get your blood moving again.

If you incorporate all of these strategies and you have a reasonably warm bag you should be able to stay warm throughout the coldest of nights.

Sweet dreams!

Sleeping Warm 101

I sleep in cold places sometimes. I have warm clothes - down jackets, wool long underwear, warm hats and socks. These are all useful and intelligent to use in cold environments. Sleeping in the cold can be challenging sometimes though. Winter camping, or Spring camping with a sleeping bag that is not quite warm enough — one of those bags with large spots, barren of insulation. I have learned a few tricks to sleep warmer. 

Here's one:

• Take a pot of water and boil it. 

• Take a water bottle with a tight waterproof seal and one that will not get soft or melt when filled with hot water. I prefer the large mouth Nalgene-style bottles. 

• Fill the bottle with hot water. Now make sure that the seal is tight and that there are no extra drops of water on the outside of the bottle or trapped in the threads or in the cap. I usually bang the bottle with my hands a few times to shake off any excess water and wipe it off.  

• Place it in your sleeping bag. 

• While the bottle is heating up your bag, do some jumping jacks or run in place for a while. Do some push ups. Get your blood moving and warm up. (A sleeping bag is like a thermos bottle. Hot stuff stays hot and cold stuff stays cold. You will sleep much warmer if you put a warm body into that insulated sleeve. Warm yourself up with light exercise before getting into your bag.) 

• Wear a warm hat. 

• Jump into your bag with the hot water bottle. Move it down to your feet, then bring it up to your groin and curl up with it. The water will still be warm in the morning when you wake up. You can make your morning oatmeal and tea with it. 

Good morning. Nice sleep. Even though it was cold outside and your bag was a little thin. 

Try it next time you're sleeping in a cold place. 

More sleeping-warm tips to come...

Move Like Water

Humans are water beings. We love water. We ARE water mostly. I sometimes forget this. I'll drink only coffee  and get the jitters and a headache. Then I drink some water and remember. Re-member.

Last night I went for a swim in a cold pool of water after sitting in a sauna. The shock to my skin,  bracing and invigorating. Once in the cold water I worked on slowing my breath and relaxing, reminding myself that I was safe. I could get back in the sauna when I needed to re-warm.

There I was, immersed in a cold pool on a crisp and starry night.

I began wiggling, moving like a worm or maybe a fish. I wiggled my hands and my feet and arms and legs and torso - I flowed and surrendered into the water-filled, viscous, fleshy being I am. I tried to really listen to the liquid inside me and moved in that way - alternating between slow and fast: undulating sleepily and then shaking and quaking with more vigor. I listened to the water. I mimicked its movement. Then I went back in the sauna.

Often when I am inside or sitting in front of a computer I move and hold myself in a rigid and linear manner— the hardness  of the walls, floors, and cool metallic computer influence how I hold my body. I am less fluid-like in such contexts. But I don't have to be.

Why not give myself the pleasure of some fluid movement?

It does not have to be obvious. It can be subtle— an imperceptible movement of hips, neck, or shoulders. Any joint I can choose to hold in a more liquid manner. I can stand, walk, sit, type, and talk like water. Anytime.

Try this: Be the water that you are. Move like that. Be like that. Be the spongy, fluid filled, viscous creature that you are. When feeling and acting upon your fluidity you might feel more at home. I do.

The Divine is Without Support

I was a practitioner of John Friend's Anusara Yoga.

He's a contemporary yogi. Anusara fell out of favor when John had sex with some of his students and smoked some marijuana. People got upset. He had an ego problem maybe.

This morning the invocation he borrowed from the Upanishads is on my mind.

“Omnama shivaya gurave.
Sacchitananda murtaye.
Nishprapanchaya shantaya.
Niralambaya tejase.”

I bow to the divine within myself who is the true teacher.
Who takes the form of being, consciousness, and bliss.
Beyond the five elements and full of peace.
The divine is without support and radiates inner light.

The divine is without support and radiates inner light.

What does that mean — without support?

The ethereal, infusive nature of the divine - floating everywhere at all time and space - unsupported - it has no real structure. God: misty and omnipresent - a thread running through all things. The creator. The source of all life. The Sun.

The Father the SUN and the Holy Ghost.

A thread flowing through all things.

The divine is without support. It floats by itself. It needs no support because it is the ethereal essence -the thread, the mist, the sub-atomic particle.  

Rivers are threads that flow through all geologic things - our three dimensional world. When I look at a river drainage I am looking at the juicy, fleshy body of  Earth -  liquid filled beauty. It is Sexual. It is Sensual. It is the tenderist vittle.

Grande Ronde River - Northeastern Oregon

And those that have navigated those geologic channels have an opportunity— to pay attention, LISTEN, and connect with their entire being.

Lets go Listen...

To the tenderest Tendy.

Hear its thrum -

Feel its pulse as your pulse.

Feel its breath as your breath.

It is the same breath.

It is the breath of life. The breath of Earth. Same thing. Inspiritude.

Inspiration: from the latin spirare - to breathe.

To inhale and exhale. That's all there is. This is life. That air pulses down and through dendritic, divine channels of alveoli into my pink spongy body.

The Divine is without support...

And Radiates inner light. . .

These words seem pretty clear. The divine, if it were to have substance— a center — it would radiate light from that center. . .  It would glow with a divine flame: an internal fire, emitting a warmish orange light, like a flame in a pumpkin.

The divine is without support and radiates inner light.

Omnama shivaya Gurave.

I bow to the divine within myself who is the true teacher.
Who takes the form of being, consciousness and bliss.
Beyond the five elements and full of peace.
The divine is without support and radiates inner light.

John Friend had his faults.

And, I am grateful he brought these words into my life and the lives of others.

They are good reminders.

Tender Vittles Vs. Auric Pollution

As I acknowledge my own tenderness and seek it out, removing unnecessary armorings and coverings - I become more able to receive from nature. I let my guard down and take off my shoes. I soften up and get in touch with my tenderness. I feel safe and at ease. I'm coming home again.  

Equally important to my own tenderness is that of the landscape I go to. There are places that are more tender than others - places where the power of nature is more available. I have seen a continuum of tenderness in most of the places I have lived. It might go something like this:

- interstate freeway
- boulevard
- side street
- cul-de-sac
- city park
- trail in park
- off the trail in the park

This a progression from least tender to most tender. From hard, paved, and traveled heavily to earthy, natural, quiet and perhaps pristine - depending where you are.  

Others have written about this as "auric pollution" which I like.

The idea:  that  people possess  energy fields that surrounds them - perhaps it's the thing we feel when someone is standing close to us when we have closed eyes. We don't see them but we know they're there. People have energy that extends beyond the boundary of their skin - this is the Aura.

When a person walks a path they leave a little of their aura behind—  a dusting left in their wake. Places like interstate freeways have high levels of these auric accumulations since so many people travel them.   Trackless wilderness would be at the other end of the continuum with hardly any visitors and thus very little auric pollution.

Places that are not routinely visited by people have a different feel to them. They are aurically unpolluted. Pristine.

They are the tender vittles of the Earth.

If I want to connect most exquisitely with nature I need to let down my guard, access my personal tenderness and then go to a place that has low levels of auric pollution.

Tender meets tender.

Once I am there I can walk or sit mindfully and notice what arises in me. I may write in my journal or choose not to, saving it for another time, choosing instead to just

BE.

Where are the places of low auric pollution near you? Where are the tender vittles? Map them out. These are your spots to connect and Return To Earth.

Tender Vittles

While working on the Main Salmon River one summer I had the pleasure of working with a creative, intelligent and hilarious man named Mikey. He is an expert guide, loquacious conversationalist and top notch chef. 

One of the gifts Mikey gave me was the concept of "the tender vittle".

It started in a frying pan one river morning. 

In order to make delectable potatoes the guide/chef in charge must first sauté some onions and garlic. 

Mikey speak for this: "Chop those ohneys (onions) and fresh gar and get them sizzlin'". 

Once the bits of garlic and onion begin to turn translucent and caramelize slightly they have been transformed into "tender vittles". 

When Mikeys pan was at this stage, he would capture the attention of the nearest person and say, "Check out those tendies! Uh! Tender vittles!", which he would follow with a song that might go like this. 

"I hope you like tendies. I hope you like tendies.",  pointing into the pan with his spatula,  executing subtle dance moves. 

Now, what does this story have to do with nature connection, ecopsychology and things RTE? Plenty. 

If I am going to connect and receive the gifts of nature I have to acknowledge that I am a soft and fleshy being, maybe even translucent like those bits of onion and garlic.  

In an earlier post I mention the idea of being a "warm grape" - a bag of warm water in a vast and sometimes harsh environment. In order to both stay safe out there and to deeply connect to nature, I have to acknowledge my softness - my tenderness. I am a soft and tender being covered with hair-like nerve endings and sense organs that allow myriad sensational natural phenomena to come into my system.

Our tender vittles in Western, Industrial Growth Society are under constant pressure to cover and armor up. Houses, vehicles, clothing, shoes, sunglasses —coverings of all kinds are the norm. 

Taking off ones shoes, walking instead of driving, sleeping on the ground - these are all behaviors of poor, homeless, or crazy people. 

It is "better" according to the popular societal conversation to live in a large house, in a gated community, driving large cars, and coating your body and skin with cosmetics and clothing.

And this is how many of us see each other - how we pretend to know each other as we meet armor to armor. Advertisers and retailers make a fortune selling the latest and greatest protections and coverings to us.

Many people have no idea they are tender vittles. They have not given themselves the time, space, and permission to truly sit with and feel this basic, skin-level, embodied truth. 

Some coverings are important obviously. But I think it is a question of degree. How much do we need to insulate ourselves from nature and from each other?

I am not advocating running naked into the woods with only a pocket knife for hunting rodents and rabbits. I am encouraging you to take your shoes off and go stand in the grass and breathe with the slower respiratory rate of the Earth. 

And I also encourage you to take stock of your coverings and armorings. Are they necessary? Could you shed a few of them?

How available is your tenderness to the world? 

And the next time you're sautéing some garlic, reflect on tenderness and maybe sing a song about it. 

Tenderly, 

Joe

One Climbs. One Sees.

Spending time in dramatic natural surroundings is many things.

"There is no way to encapsulate all that is happening to us out here. We cannot name and label it into understanding or complete knowing." - Steven K Harper

I attempt to give word and image to that mystery. . . to communicate the genuine presence, love, connection and bliss that is time spent with the original teacher — Mother Earth.

While moving through the Sierra last month, our group shared a moment between Earth and Sky, sitting on the threshold — the ecotone.

We didn't get there on accident.

Worked.

Conscious walking.

Conscious rising in predawn darkness — moving with headlamps.

We sat for a wind-free hour on the summit  sharing time and breath.  

Tedra Hamel, teacher and guide, recited a quote.

I want to remember this moment and everyone present to remember it.

I am sharing it — bringing you up to see glacial carvings - and  blue of sky.  

Windless peace of morning.

Om.

P.S. Try breathing with the yoga segment. . .  

Muir in Space

It is nearing the end of our time across the threshold in the Sierra and we have been reading many John Muir stories and quotes.  Sleeping beneath the stars I feel connected to brother John as he gazed upon them from his blankets many nights as well.

"When we contemplate the whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted with continents and islands, flying through space with other stars all singing and shining together as one, the whole universe appears as an infinite storm of beauty. "

- John Muir

From Travels in Alaska  

Dispatch From The Range of Light

Inspiration abounds. Connection. We are going deeper. The students are preparing for their Solo experience - a modern environmental education tool with ancient, indigenous roots. 

All spiritual traditions in the history of humanity have gone to nature for inspiration. The fastest route to God is through the wilderness. Wandering and paying attention... Sitting still and paying attention.  

"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul alike."

- John Muir The Yosemite

Good Tidings

Living and Loving the wilderness. The lessons and beauty of this amazing mountain range abound.  So much to learn. So much to celebrate. 

__________________________

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.

John Muir

Our National Parks,  1901

 

Life in a Pack

This month I am co-leading a backpacking course in California's High Sierra. I will be teaching ten seventeen years olds, helping them learn the skills they need to successfully navigate the various challenges of backcountry travel.

We will live with what we can carry on our backs, bringing only what we need, riding that fine line between comfort and chilly hunger.  

This is one of my favorite aspects of most nature activities. When engaged in them I am usually living out of small spaces. 

One of the first times I remember learning this was back in 1992. I was returning from a month long bike tour in Montana and Canada and preparing myself to go off to graduate school.

I had just experiences one of the happiest , most vibrant and alive months of my life, filled with new experiences, relationships, lots of laughter and connection and I had done it all with a bike and the materials I could shove into four medium sized pannier bags and a handlebar bag. It was an extremely small amount of stuff: gear clothing, a few books, a journal and some food. 

I opened the door to the storage unit that contained all of the stuff I had to take with me to graduate school and I paused. 

Hadn't I just experienced one of the happiest times of my life? 

Hadn't I just done it with only what I could load onto my bike? 

What was all this other stuff for then?

I am living out of a backpack this month. I will be dining with glaciers and mountain peaks, sleeping with meadows and communing with creeks. I hope to bring some of this back to RTE and share some of the insights I gather while living, teaching, and learning in what John Muir called the Range of Light. 

Crossing the Digital Threshold

Last week on the Selway I had the pleasure of sharing my raft with Alan and Pam from Massachusetts. Alan sat in the stern, behind me in the fishing seat and Pam was in the bow, sitting on the padded box. 

In order to get to the "Put-In" for the Selway, Pam and Alan rode on a little Shuttle Bus with Ari, the lead guide and outfitter and all the other guests. About an hour and a half into the ride the shuttle bus passes out of cell service. This is the point of digital silence — a significant threshold for all of us these days for some people more than others. Crossing the digital threshold on the put-in drive to the Selway removes a person from the digital networks for six days. Silence. No ringing. No messages. No email. Unplugged.

Alan is a successful Architect.  Just before leaving to come out for the river trip he was feverishly putting a plan together for some luxury condominiums. It was a very big deal and had been taking up most of his attention. He had actually been on his cell phone as the shuttle bus crossed the threshold. Done. Cut off. No more work. No more condo design and planning. He depressed the power button and shut down his phone. 

On day one when Pam and Alan boarded my raft they checked in with eachother constantly. 

"How are you honey?"

"Good honey, how are you"

"Good, good."

a few seconds pass..

"Oh I got splashed! Did you get wet, Honey?"

"I did! Are you having fun?"

"Yes, are you?"

A few more seconds..

"Are you having fun Honey?"

"Yes are you?"

"Definitely"

With Pam in the bow and Alan in the stern, they were speaking over and through me to maintain their connection, so I heard everything - felt it too. They clearly loved eachother and were excited to be on the river. It was wonderful to be in the middle of their affection and excitement about running the first eight miles of the Selway. 

That night we camped at Archer Point, a grassy flat terrace on the left bank sprinkled with Native bunch grasses, Doug Fir, Ponderosa pine, wild rose, Syringa and the lobey-petaled Clarkia. 

The next day I noticed that Pam and Alan had settled in. They were less talkative. Quieter.  When they spoke I noticed their voices were slower and resonated at a lower pitch. 

As we floated down the river that morning Alan sat in silence. I could not see him as he sat behind me but I could tell that his head was swiveling around as he gazed up at the high walls of the river canyon and then down into the clear waters and the rocks below us as we glided over them. He was taking it in. Looking around and appreciating the grandeur of this special place. 

All I could hear was the dipping of my oars blades in the water and periodically the call of the Swainson's Thrush - a delightfully bubbly song of high tones and trills. Then would come Alan's quiet, reverent voice.

"Oh my God."

More quiet water sounds and songs of birds and insects. And then Alan again...

"So beautiful."

This went on to some degree or another for the next five days. This wonderful man, loving husband and father, diligent and successful professional was taking a break and allowing nature to soak into him. He sat, undistracted in the back of my raft and marveled at the pristine and tender wilderness of the Selway River. 

Being across the digital threshold helped Alan to connect deeper. He knew he could not be contacted— that he was truly out of the office. Places like the Selway are rare these days. Cell towers and their fields of influence have crept into most regions of the world. There are few places where a person can go for a protracted time and not be under digital/cellular influences. The office can be anywhere. 

Of course, I can choose to shut my phone down and impose this state artificially. Or, I can leave my phone at home or in my car and go walk in the city park with the intention to Return to Earth. 

Disconnecting to Reconnect takes vigilance and intention. It is worth it though. The states of appreciation, attention and reverence like those that Alan attained while sitting in the back of my raft are priceless and critically important. 

Turn off your phone or leave it behind and go take a slow, mindful walk in the woods.