Pilgrimage

"The mountains are calling and I must go." — John Muir

Visualization can be a powerful tool for coping with grief, stress, anxiety, or pain. One commonly prescribed technique, if you are dealing with heavy emotions, is to visualize yourself in a place you have been: a locale where you've felt optimistic and at peace with the world. Tahoe is my happy place, it is sacred to me, and I often visit this particular vista with my mind's eyes. Imagination isn't always enough, though; sometimes a pilgrimage is in order.

Pilgrims make their journeys for any number of reasons: as a way to seek out moral or spiritual higher ground, as penance for sins (imagined or real), as a sign of devotion, or in the hopes of some relief, some cure, miraculous or otherwise. Or maybe (if you're really whacked) all of the above, all at once. Which explains my presence in this spot, at this moment.

Lake Tahoe embodies a mythically majestic landscape, borne out of the earth by tectonic plate shifts, long-extinct volcanoes, and snow; it's a place where matter and magic mix. I've felt the alchemy here: the somber weight of losing a loved one and standing on the dock, pushing off that barque towards its long journey elsewhere, the star-encrusted bliss of a love-laden kiss, the precious gold of memories. Injuries survived. Milestones. Rites of Passage. Treasure found. Joy.

Dear Universe, I no doubt have plenty of karmic comeuppances headed my way, but please, here in this moment, grant me solace and serenity. Mom would have turned 69 today; she loved this mystical mountainscape and always insisted that "believing is seeing." And though I am but a humble pilgrim, I still believe in miracles...

Don't Fence Me In...

Some words of wisdom crossed my path yesterday: "Hang your future on a rusty nail." Meaning, don't sit around waiting for things to be perfect; get out there, jump the fence! Who cares if you rip the seat of your overalls on the way? A more humble, down-to-earth piece of advice than "Hitch your wagon to a star," but more accessible in the everyday, and one worth considering.

The words came with a strong visual, a memory of a college weekend when I left the books behind and tagged along with a handful of friends who said "Come on! Let's go!" We ended up in Sonoma county on a warm Indian summer day, hiking high into the hills, coming back down to the borders of a friend's farm at sunset, tired and parched.

And there, hanging on a rusty nail in a fence post, was this beautiful bowl. Glazed in celadon and burgundy, graced with the impression of some ancient fossil, it mesmerized. "That's gorgeous. Why is it here?" I asked. My friend, the inhabitant of the farm, said "My sister made it. She figured the right person would come along and claim it." With that, he took it down off the nail and handed it to me.

We filled the bowl with blackberries found growing along the fence, and pulled water from the well, and watched a silvery crescent come up over the Valley of the Moon. All those memories are held in this vessel, and other things too: a reverence for simple beauty, the wonder of things unexpected, a reminder to look past the usual boundaries. Yes, I think I'll hang my future on that rusty nail...