The snow was deep. I walked next to the ski tracks someone had made. Even with my snow shoes, I sunk in 2-3 feet. It was hard work to break trail. A cross-country skier myself, I grumble when snowshoes or boots have made deep imprints in the tracks. But with the threat of more snow coming and the okay for using their tracks from my fellow X-C skiers still ringing in my ears, I switched to the ski tracks. The woods loomed as I climbed up the ridge. The deep quiet let me hear my breathing and the crunching of my snowshoes as I sunk in with each step. Two others followed, taking advantage of the compacted trail I was making. The quiet didn’t invite conversation. With each deep breath, I felt awe relax my jaw, an awe I feel when climbing mountains. Step, breathe, step, breathe, I moved. It’s my body against gravity, against the force of nature. Thoughts became few. I stood to wait for the others to catch up and scanned the surrounding forest. The gray sky matched the Aspen trunks; the dark bark of the conifers painted the landscape with big black brushstrokes. A watery sun broke through and gave a pale blue color to the monochrome of white, gray and black.
I enjoy working my body with a slow, steady effort. The fresh air full of negative ions give fuel to keep going. My body is built for endurance. I’m like a Belgian draft horse, always ready to pull the plow.
We moved in tandem, walking, stopping, breathing, walking. V-shaped slashed ski marks showed the grade of the terrain. We climbed until we reached a high point on the ridge and the ski tracks moved on down the hill overlooking a meadow. Another climb would await us on the return after going downhill. A log not yet covered with snow invited us to sit, have a snack and consider our options. Turning left and breaking trail to make a loop wasn’t inviting either. We’d done enough work. Little snowflakes whirled in the air.
So we turned back on our tracks. Woods are woods, snow is snow, you don’t need to go into uncharted territory to get a different perspective. Not on this ridge anyway.
I moved with gravity, my breathing eased; I still sunk in occasionally as pockets in the snow collapsed under my weight. And then it happened. As my legs with the awkward snowshoes moved in rhythm, I felt happiness, joy bubbling up inside me. The world around me looked stunningly beautiful. I felt like singing. “I’m in my happy place”, I called out to the person behind me. The snow now fell in earnest. I stuck out my tongue and licked the soft flakes.
Such is the experience of hiking with effort on difficult terrain. I’ve experienced this spontaneous joy many times. I never know when it will burst forth. But it happens enough that hiking has become my go-to practice for expanding my mind and developing a state they call “rapture” or “Piti” (pronounced “pee-tee”) in Buddhist meditation practice. I believed rapture was an elevated state of mind, achieved after years of concentrated meditation. Concentration yes, effort, yes, but it doesn’t take years of sitting on your cushion to experience it. It’s a by-product of rhythmic, concerted effort that can occur anywhere. I’m sure the slaves, singing their hymns and working their cutting tools rhythmically in the field, experienced this joy. They knew how to reduce suffering by singing and swinging. I'm no musician or dancer, but I guess they also experience this state of joy when they fully immerse themselves in their art.
I don’t meditate to achieve this state. It’s a wonderful by-product. I don’t hike to achieve this state, but it’s nice when it happens. In a world full of suffering, poverty and war, we can all use a bit of Piti or joy.
When we reached our starting point of the day, the X-C skiers caught up with us. “It was a fast ski down the ridge,” they said with grins on their faces, ”thanks for walking in our tracks. It helped slow us down.” My effort didn’t just produce joy for me, it gave others a happy ride as well.
Step, breathe, step, breathe ❤️
Recovering from a foot injury, your beautiful words brought me right to the woods where I would snowshoe in years past -- years of abundant snow and sans injury. I too have had that rapturous feeling snowshoeing on a cold, blue-sky day. Thank you for allowing me to live vicariously through your experience. Beautiful!