I was at the coffee shop the other day and Charles pointed to the rosebush and said "that thing's tryin' to bloom out already." Those few days of warm weather had inspired it to flower and at its first chance, new growth had already sprouted. The cold to come will of course bite into the new shoots of green, baring them back to the thicker, tempered parts of the stem. How often have we thought "finally! this is it! I'm here, I have arrived" only to be snapped back by the cold, back to our thicker, weathered parts? It's almost enough to induce a winter within, our parts withdrawn for protection. Yet as the rose knows, spring will most certainly come and the beauty produced by that striving is a reward worth a thousand winters. Thoughts of previous seasons ends may stifle, the knowing that the cold will come again, yet every time we bloom it is an opportunity to recognize that we are the stem, the flower and the seed. We are the pollen that is picked up by spring breezes, spreading out in order to know life more fully. It's as if the heart were made of it, always willing to give up a part of itself to the wind in hopes of new, expansive knowing. Let us remember this when we next feel the urge to burst into bloom and fly into it with reckless abandon. There is the life all around us, and its song will fill us wholly.

I had a dream last night, the night of my birthday. There were two men, somewhat unsavory characters, obviously willing to thieve and not in it for everyone's best interest. They were trying to fix my family's house but mostly sat around talking about what should be done. My cats happened to wake me just as the dream ended, else I probably wouldn't have remembered it so well. I pondered the meaning this morning and realized the two men to be characters in my mind, one with good intentions, one in it for himself, for the idea he represented, ignorant to the rest of life. As I sat in the brisk, moist and sometimes biting wind, I knew these to be the ideas that sat on top of my heart, trying to handle the forces of existence with hands trained by experience. Yet too fearful he was and thus shut out anything that posed too much of an uncertainty. The extent to which this had muted my life became starkly obvious. It was like eating Indian food for the first time, realizing how many flavors I had been missing out on. The sun seemed brighter, all colors more vivid, all sounds more full. The defense of my heart was ignoring that it has a voice of its own, strong, resonant and supreme. It needs no keeper of mind and thought; the pair were like doormen of the house of a god, learned in the words She speaks yet oblivious to the reality of Her presence.

So I was left with a cleaner lense. So strong is the habit of the body, of yesterdays and fears saved. So quick our spirit is to wrap itself in the garments of mind, of cloaks once so useful yet so cumbersome and restrictive. The seed has its protective hull, but that hull must ultimately be shed so that the magnitude of the tree can grow forth, complete with protective skin and sturdy frame unto itself. We are the same. Let the spirit drop beneath the veils. No matter how thick the protective layers, in calm states they align and are seen to be transparent, workable by this power that sees, this choice that we are.

New Year's Winter in Shenandoah

"We've been here for 7 years now, and this is the worst weather we've ever had."

I didn't underestimate Josh's resolve to get back on the Appalachain Trail and to carry through as-planned, for his penchant for both are indominable. What wasn't expected was the myraid of lessons learned, which puts a pale pall on how they felt as they came. It comes readily apparent now how what we perceive becomes the world we live in. I'm reminded of an episode of Kung Fu where one of Cane (David Carradine)'s teachers talks of the old master who ultimately lept from a precipice and ended his life. "Why?" asked the young Cane. "Because when he looked over the valley, all he saw was the evil of man. Consumed by this vision he was overcome by grief, and so he ended his life." We overlook this subtle truth, taking our own perspective as the way things are. Of course there must be some measure of confidence in our perceptions, else our life is as fragile as a snowflake. However, we must also recognize that the edifices we've built our minds around are made from who we were yesterday, and in order for deep change and transformation to occur, these monoliths have to be seen for what they are. So the world is dreary? So you wish to feel more, be more? So the habitual, primary viewpoint must be challenged and rearranged.

We walked about 45 miles over new year's weekend, 10 of it through snow anywhere from 6 inches to 2 feet deep. My legs were bruised just above my ankles from the mid-top boots I wore. The constantly uneven terrain, be it half-frozen, half-trodden snow pressed into ridges or the banked thoroughfare we were forced to take, was pressing the rim of the boots into my muscle and bone. Pain. The soreness was horrendous. Being a hiker of medium experience, I still hadn't the feel for just how important it is to keep the weight of your pack down. I was carrying about 50 lbs. above my body weight up, over and down mountain ridges into valleys and back up again. We easily rose and fell a mile just in elevation changes. My body began to force me to use different muscle groups, and I could feel my stomach begin to lift my thighs with the help of my hips so to ease my calfs. I realized that how we walk is completely linked to how we think. We have muscle memory, and that memory is tied to our mind, totally. The discomfort of the endeavour demanded I use more of myself in ways I had yet considered. Burned in the crucible of effort were the wooden fences once marking the edge of typical operation. I felt the questions of "do I look funny walking this way" surface and fall away with the pain and relief from my new gait. My hips were rotating almost in perfect circles, their momentum lifting my feet in a responding arc, and I was half bent over so the weight from my pack was no longer on my shoulders. I'm sure I did look rather funny, but I absolutely, positively did not care.

Into sharp review came the short trips of my mind. It would drift into the minds of my companions, considering how I looked to them, what they were thinking as I bounded in my steps when an exhillarating song would come over my MP3. I felt my energy deplete instantly as I considered these things, half of my reserves on the ready to act the part of cool, to play the fool for the smile or pat on the back, for the awe or admiration. At this, my body celebrated. I found new energy as I centered my attention back to the task at hand, back to the edifice of my will and highest beliefs, to the altar of thoughts built with meditation, contemplation, prayer and purified observation. Suddenly what I perceived myself to be became palpable, and I caught a hint of the power the near-naked, snow-melting monks possess. There is a point where we decide what we are, and if that is not compromised by listening for what we are in the minds of others, our life becomes stable. I can preach this to you consistantly, and it can make total sense and I hope that is enough to sway you. In my own experience, we must become somehow fed up with the strife and anger and pain this process causes us in order to break away from it.

Food never tasted so good. It's as though our minds operate on a frequency, and by this I mean it samples reality a certain number of times per second. Our eyes can only see so many frames per second, can only see a small spectrum of light. Our ears are the same and so is our mind. The trick is, our world of technology and comfort has altered our perception. Only the strongest tastes are registered, because we have the luxury of many flavors of food. Only the newest, most entertaining media is appealing because we are exposed to so much of it. I do not judge this as good or bad, yet it must be seen that our taste in things, which fill the catalogue of our wants, direct our lives to a huge degree. Having our perceptions stretched so far in these intense directions creates a sense of boredom for time spent at the baseline. If things are plodding along normally, such things only get so much of our attention. It takes an even bigger explosion to seize our attention because the one we saw last week was the largest ever, hence, we walk along kicking rocks until the next eye-widening event. What rocks are we kicking?

I don't think it is realized the depth of the effect of movies and television on our mind. It is a mirror. As our mind waits for the next big event, the stuff of commercials and storylines become the stuff of idle thought. The frequency of mind is tuned to this, and so there is this pervading sense of boredom, thrill-seeking and restlessness for action. Simple pleasures are non-existent because they happen much too slowly to be attractive. While walking on the trail, the minds of others quite far away, my mind took on a fundamental interest in everything. The natural world began to soak into my eyes and body. The music I began to listen to at the end of the 2nd day of walking sounded like music once did, when I was a teen-ager and music was my life. I was swept up in the energy of it, and every note was carried by the emoting of the singer, the inaudible ring in the instruments put there by the musicians themselves. Life became a symphony again. The alfredo noodles made with just water and a foil pack of chicken was absolute delicacy. It wasn't creamy, there was no milk or butter involved; it was watery and I'm sure on another day I would've scoffed at the idea of eating such drivel. But it remains even now and will remain one of the best meals I've ever had.

I have in the past bitched silently about how long it takes to reverse old habits and become the person I want to be, blah blah blah, but I don't think I can do that anymore. Life is out there waiting to be drank in like the gods' ambrosia, for that is what it is... the ever-changing, ever-new, ever-lasting nectar of reality.