It’s been a busy week in the walking and hiking department of my life. Training for a backpack trip later this month, I’ve gradually increased mileage, elevation and pack weight. This week I reached the distance I will have to walk and pack weight I will carry. Training for a backpack trip isn’t the same as actually doing it, but now I have more confidence in my body’s abilities. It helps with the mental anxiety that always precedes such trips. I need to prepare a lot, so I won’t be caught without my necessities on the trail, away from access to the daily commodities most of us have: water, warm shelter, food. The prep keeps my mind occupied, on alert, so I won’t forget anything I will need.
As I look out my window while writing, I see a whipping 25-mile/hour wind blow snow around and taking away all views of the mountains. The sky looks as if a grey smog is filling the air. I am sheltered, warm, and cozy with my cup of chai next to me. I wouldn’t want to be caught outside in this weather with my backpack. The wind makes setting up a tent challenging, not to mention the stinging cold of snow and grapple. Even though it’s my choice to experience the lack of daily comforts on my backpacking trips, I choose the time of year, weather and temperature to mitigate getting caught in a snowstorm or heatwave. When and where I go is up to me.
Not so for the people in war zones. Not so for the migrants of the world. For the people in Gaza, food, water and shelter aren’t a given. For the migrants crossing the border with Mexico in the Sonoran desert, shelter and water are not readily available. My backpack trip into the desert of Southern New Mexico will be a pilgrimage of sorts, to experience what the migrants may experience, sans terror, trauma, and travel-weariness. Bombarded daily - if we spend time on our screens - with the images of war zones and border crossings, we become numb to it. Overwhelming as the news is, how do we keep a compassionate heart?
My answer is, walk or hike and experience a bit of what the victims of power and climate change experience. This week, on a walk, I saw a 5-foot, 3-inch diameter snake, not a rattler, but a bull snake (non-venomous). Still a snake that bites. In the desert, you meet snakes; snake bites are a danger. The bull snake put me on alert for what I may encounter. How do migrants from Bangla-Desh, Colombia, and Afghanistan recognize venomous snakes in the Sonoran desert?
On a training hike this week with a full pack I experienced the weariness a father must feel carrying a backpack and his 3-year-old daughter, mile after mile. I returned home to a comfortable bed, a refreshing shower, and a meal. The father doesn’t know when, or if, he will find a bed, a shower, a meal. Once I’m on the long trail, I have to set up shelter, eat freeze-dried food and find water I can purify for drinking. At least I know I’ll have what I need when the day ends. I will carry my phone for updates on navigating the trail, camping spots, and water sources. The father carries his phone to get updates on dangers ahead, instructions from brokers who will traffic them across the border, sometimes a message from family on the other side. Few if any messages of comfort. He won’t know where the next water source is, his next meal, or if he will find shelter.
It’s hard to imagine the mental state these victims are suffering. As a former mental health therapist, I shudder to think of the damage done to the brain; the trauma accumulated. My adventure hike in the desert will only be a shadow of what migrants experience and won’t touch the terror victims in war zones feel daily.
All I can do is express compassion, add vibrations of love and caring to a polluted mental world. Dilute the smog of terror and trauma that hangs over the world. Someone just wrote: “The purring of cats and dogs wagging their tails are expressions of unconditional love. With their purring and wagging, these animals spread love and comfort for those around them. I hope that my awakened compassion will spread to the migrants and war victims; comfort them and give them hope for a better ending of their day. Maybe you, the reader, can help with that?
Ah, the storm abated and the lower mountains are visible again. Did my compassion writing help lift the stormy smog?
If you enjoy my writing and want to read more, you can find my books, “Walking Gone Wild” and “Fly Free” here or at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
Dear Dani, Thank you for this compassion practice suggestion and detailed examples of who may be enduring the walk without the life support systems we backpackers use to make our chosen trips safe and comfortable. I take Jukai vows this morning at my Zen center and had then planned a training hike this afternoon for hiking the Colorado Trail this summer. This piece of your writing has helped me walk with a more open heart. Deep bows, Janet
Beautiful and sad. But yet, still beautiful. I need it walk more. :)