Song of the Mountain; Whispers of the River
Hiking - "I don't like either the word or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains, not hike! Do you know the origin of that word 'saunter?' It's a beautiful word.
Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, 'A la sainte terre,' 'To the Holy Land.'
And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not hike through them."
- John Muir
COMMUNION WITH THE WILD
It’s cold up on the mountain.
Every now and then the golden shimmer of midday sun blankets the green canvas below in warmth. Brooding clouds roll back over, highlighting the crisp touch of winter's breath.
How many mountains does an ant climb in a day? How many songs does a bird sing from sunrise to set? How long does it take for the pale green lichen to grow on the ashen branch before me, it’s coarse grandfather beard dangling rigidly in the breeze?
Such are the musings that come and go up here on the peak.
Conquering mountains… what a strange concept that is; that any one person, or group of people, could conquer such a formidable immovable force. My mind drifts off to the words of Chinese poet, Du Fu. “The nation falls into ruins, but rivers and mountains remain.”
How apt for these times.
The dominant narrative for millennia has certainly weighed towards subdue and conquer, paving the path to crumbling nations. Mountains and rivers remain, sure, but not without consequence. Quarries show deep scars, and rivers carry the pains of the earth; these life supporting vessels drying up, overburdened with toxic waste.
Up on the peak, sullen clouds drizzle raindrops of resemblance into my mind. “Generations rise and fall, yet still, mountains remain.”
What a fantastical display of egotism; thinking one could ever conquer a mountain.
Perhaps one's own inner mountains, but the great spine of the earth? The ancient bones that give rise to ridges and peaks? The vertebrae that were here long before our time and will stand long after we’re gone?
Perhaps a more fruitful approach could be found if we release the reigns on this heavy paradigm of dominion and control, re-tuning our ears to listen and learn from mountain song; a song that can best be heard when we relax the thinking mind, open up our multi-sensory capacity, and become present to the unique expression of the wild before us.
Divine communion.
NATURE AS A MIRROR
This mountain exposes well worn teeth through granite face.
Stoic. With barely a blink, it’s unwavering posture remains sturdy against the blistering heat of summer and thunderous rains of winter. And one really thinks they can conquer a mountain?
We’re but specks of dust on the curvature of its skin; the faintest of markings on primordial hide; filamentous creatures in this seaweed of the land, swaying back and forth in syncopated rhythms.
Immersing one’s solitary self into the wild of nature, for days and nights on end, does things to one’s consciousness. It takes us places. Opens portals. Beyond the physical manifestation of the landscapes before us and into the mirrored representations within our psyche.
The clearing in the woods. The open expanse looking over valley below. The fallen branches; lifeless, crumpled, resting upon one another. The glimmer of sunshine off winter foliage. The inaccessible caves resting two thirds up a vertical cliff face, thick clouds blanketing the ridge in their silvery grey hue.
Nature can be a gateway to something familiar within us; a key to unlock previously unexplored dens and burrows, tunneling into our own molten core; a revelation of one’s self to one’s self.
The mountain has the potential to reveal our intuitive capacities.
Its booming voice of silence can quiet the thinking mind long enough for us to catch wind of these directional undercurrents, steering and correcting our sails as we flow down the valley of presence. If one is receptive enough, if one is attentive enough, the song of the mountain can reveal the most wondrous of gifts.
And on this particular day, the mountain offers an invitation…
THE RESERVOIRS OF STILLNESS; THE WELLSPRINGS OF SILENCE
Is everything an emergent property from some deep reservoir of cosmic stillness? Some wellspring of cosmic silence that resides at the core of all things?
The rise and fall of abdomen with each breath. The honeyeaters wings fluttering like the sound of little ribbons caught in the wind. The movement of native grasstree, those dark bodied men with their grey faces and shaggy green hair waving to and fro.
Are all of these moments birthed from and punctuated by the primordial silence of possibility?
What an interesting thing to realize; that our thoughts, movements, sounds and songs, arise from this place of stillness, and once again, return to the graceful quiet of infinite potential; the zero point sphere from which all life emerges.
Whether it’s the ghostly sound of woodwind flute or the whistle of birdsong on morning wind, becoming receptive to the rising and falling of sound can become one of our greatest teachers.
Nature as a sacred teacher is one of the pillars of shamanic cosmologies. The ancient teachings on how to conduct one’s self within ceremonial and ritual space have certainly been informed by the quality and characteristics of sound emerging from and dispersing back into the natural world.
The quality and practice of noble silence within ceremony opens a container to better hear the voice of the mystery and how it wants to emerge. If we can become graceful enough for a moment in time to settle into this place of spaciousness, of spacious presence, of silence and stillness, the opportunity awaits to deepen into the magic and mystery of life.
PROVERBS, POETS, MOUNTAIN PATHS & BUDDHA’S RAFT
With a steady breeze now blowing from the west, I settle in behind an overhanging stone ledge, pipe in hand, allowing the rich scent of herbal smoke to carry over the ridge.
Looking back along the serpentine undulations of the granite path below, my mind trails back to the grove of banksia and gum. Fluttering songbirds took to the dimmed radiance of the last remaining flowers, like little pots of honey, oozing their final drops of nectar.
The silence of the grove was palpable; penetrating, and paradoxically, a whirling vortex of stillness. The long forgotten hymns of mystics from another time could be felt in the syncopated beating of tiny feathered wings; the imperceptible whisper of wind through this woodland orchard, rousing the subtle smell of forest humus and damp lush moss.
A strange and magical portal indeed, transitioning each saunterer from lowland scrub and gritty beige walkway, to the craggy grey outcrops and windy granite path leading to the raw naked peak.
The mountain has many faces and sings many songs.
The old Chinese proverb comes to mind, that there are many paths up the mountain, but the view from the top is all the same. While its sentiments towards enlightenment -however you might define that- can certainly be appreciated, from another angle, we could argue that the view from the top is not always the same, illuminating the point with another classic proverb: no man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.
Replace river with mountain, and you might catch the drift, for the Greek philosopher Heraclitus was alluding to the universal constant of change. The mountain is dynamic, and so are we, with our myriad perspectives and our evolutionary flow down the river of life in an ever-constant flux.
Perhaps the great spiritual teacher, Jiddhu Krishnamurti, might suggest that if a path up the mountain has already been carved, it’s not our path to take, for truth is a pathless land. This pathless land doesn’t lead us anywhere, while at the same time, guides us deep within.
“Pathmaker, there is no path. You make the path by walking.” - Antonio Machado.
No one can walk our path for us, true, but the flaming torch that lights the footsteps of old can certainly bring insight to guide us on our way. If we do follow this torch of ancient wisdom, we might find ourselves beside one of Buddha’s teachings: the parable of the raft.
Buddha once spoke of a man who found himself wanting to cross a great river. Without a bridge, nor a boat to be found, he set upon the task of gathering grass, twigs and branches to create a simple raft. Clambering on board, he paddled his way to the other side.
Although the raft had served him well, he didn’t carry it with him on his shoulders, nor did he cling to it in any such way. Being no longer of use, he gratefully set it on the shore and continued on his journey. Within the same story, the Buddha tells of a man who -for some unknown reason- was seeking a water snake. Upon finding one, he picked it up, but failing to grasp it properly, it swiveled around and gave him a venomous bite.
The lessons are perhaps obvious in this one.
No doubt, we can appreciate the many rafts that help us on our journey, without carrying them (or, being carried by them) for any second longer than we need. The wisdom traditions and spiritual teachings we have access to certainly serve a purpose in guiding the way, but if we grasp too tight we risk the envenomation of serpentine strike.
Possibly even more poisonous still is not sauntering up those many mountain paths at all, and instead, as the old Hindu proverb lays forth, wasting one’s time running around and around the base of the mountain, telling everyone on the trail that they’re on the wrong path.
Maybe each trail is a necessary raft, one that might flow down the river to the pathless path.
THE PRACTICALITIES OF FINDING OUR WAY BACK HOME
The mountains and the rivers are an abundant source of wisdom, holding many secrets for those who are quiet enough to listen.
While these teachings can be learnt direct from the source, many human teachers have passed on their knowledge concerning nature as a sacred teacher, with many-a-flowering meadow of techniques and innerstandings available to help re-tune our animal senses to the wild whispers of the land.
Consistent observation is one such method, whether it’s with the celestial cycles, tracking the sun, moon and stars as they change throughout the year, or simply spending time with a leaf, cloud, river, stone or tree.
It could be experientially exploring the elements, working with fire, air, water and earth, tuning into their ancient teachings through ritual process.
A common practice is having a daily sit spot, a place in nature that becomes a designated medicine area for the observation and learning of bird song, animal behaviour, plant life, and the shifting of the seasons.
Tracking and mimicry have long been practices employed by our ancestors, attuning our nervous systems and our physiology to the subtle movements and patterns of our animate kin, not only for physical sustenance through hunting techniques, but for ceremonial rituals and deeper communion with spirit.
Nature-based cultures and shamanic wisdom traditions might point out that our other-than-human relatives can be our greatest teachers. These teachings are still there for us to tune into, waiting for us to bridge the gap, reviving our relationship with the natural world.
The soaring eagle can teach us about wide-angled vision, taking in the entire landscape from our periphery with a soft gaze, allowing the many shifting gradients to be observed without a fixed narrow focus.
The birds closer to ground level can teach us about our local ecology, with their myriad songs and calls illuminating the moment to moment happenings, from a cat strolling past, to the neighbouring bird that crossed a territorial boundary.
Kangaroos, deer and many other mammals can teach us the skill of swivelling our auditory capacity to wide-angled listening, sending our hearing out like little vines reaching for the sunlight in all directions.
The fox and the feline can teach how to glide silently through the landscape, their feet feeling and seeing the ground below as they gently ease into each step.
The importance of grounding our own skin to the bare skin of the earth and basking in the rays of the sun are taught by many.
The list goes on, with the entirety of beings within the great web of life offering teachings on how to become more in-tune with our surrounds in a myriad of ways, just as they taught our earth-honouring ancestors how to live more harmoniously throughout the ages.
May we all find our way back home.
