Meditations on a Hike

The hike is long and grueling. It is all uphill, both ways. The mountain beckons, a narrow winding path flanked by ferns and old trees. It is nice, but it’s exhausting. When will rest come? The horizon is up ahead. Yes, that will be my goal. When I get to the horizon, I’ll be fine. But the horizon is a moving target. It moves as I do. If the horizon is my goal, I will never achieve it.

Nature. Birds. Grass. The trees are beautiful, yes, but when will I get home? I am so tired. I must have been climbing for hours. Another glance at the watch. When I get back to the parking lot, I’ll be fine.

How long has it been? How far have I gone? A glance behind gives me strength as I see how far I’ve come. A glance ahead brings me back. Back to the future, you might say. If I could only walk backwards, seeing the progress as I make it. But then I’m bound to trip on a rock or something. Face forward. When I get around the bend, I’ll be fine. When will I get around the bend?

When will I be fine?

Looking back doesn’t move me forward. Looking forward can bring me down. Looking down helps. One step, then another. Left, right, left. A rock. A mound of leaves. A worm. A bug. Watch for snakes. Looking up: trees, sun, Serenity. Brown ground with a cap of green.

I am not forward, I am not back. I am now.

I am fine now.

It matters not if I am on a journey of five minutes, hours, or days. Left, right, left. One foot, then another. When I get to Now, I am fine.