Winter Pilgrim

Hiking in winter is a pilgrimage to me.  A journey of not only body but of soul into its own aliveness. 

I am always a bit afraid being out in the cold, far from shelter, deep in snow.  No matter how much I prepare, there are always unforeseen challenges on a winter hike.  A frozen water bottle, a broken snowshoe strap, snow that is too deep to push through. If I fall and need help it could a long while in the cold before I am found. I am prudent and cautious, but it can be hard to know when turning around makes good sense and when is means I am giving up on myself. 

I read the signs carefully, weather and snow conditions, energy and hunger, longing and belonging. I am surprised by the beauty of the winter forest, the insulating quiet of the snow, deep blue of a mid-day winter sun, stunted mountaintop spruce layered in hoarfrost. After hours of hiking, step after heavy step, I am suddenly taken in by a sweeping view of the valley below.  I am amazed, each time, to have made so far.  

On winter pilgrimage, I come closer to the truth of my human vulnerability. I feel my fingers easily numbed without cover, the great hunger that comes from long exertion, the pelting of ice and hail against raw cheeks. Linear time dissolves into one single pulse of rhythm, one foot after another, my beating heart opening and closing. In this vulnerability, I feel closer to the holiness of existence and the miracle of participating in it.  

The soul, the part of us that can most appreciate mystery, challenge, uncertainty, loves this adventure. As for myself, I am healed and purified by a day of quiet, vigorous, solitude.  So very tired at the end and grateful for a hot shower a filling meal, a long deep sleep in a soft bed.