American Buddhist Perspectives
The man had been taught to avoid the easier path, to seek out difficult tasks and to overcome them. He had rested well and was nourished under the hermit’s care. He thought briefly about his options, filled his lungs deeply with the cool mountain air, and announced that he would take the difficult route. The hermit smiled, knowingly, with what the man took to be admiration for his courage.
The way was indeed difficult, involving a steep climb along narrow ridges. The cool mountain air turned frigid and damp. The soft ground, grassy underbrush, and pine trees of the foothills were replaced by shattered rock and spiny bushes clinging to what little dirt could be found. By late morning the man had fallen a couple times, once bruising his hip, once cutting his hand. His early morning energy, and bravado, had worn thin.
He looked back over the distance he had covered, amazed by how tiny and distant the lower mountains where he had encountered the hermit were. He could scan the entire horizon except for this tiny bit of mountain ahead of him, and could not see a higher peak. The green mountains became blue-green, then blue and dark blue, then finally met with the pale sky in all directions. Standing there, on the jagged rocks, breathing still cold air under the bright sun, the man felt a wave of peace sweep over him. His pains subsided and all he could feel was his breath: the rise and fall of his chest and the cool air on his nostrils. Each inhale took in the whole panorama, each exhale released tension, ego, clinging… whatever separation, isolation, or alienation he might have felt previously, gone. All that was was mountain, earth, air, and sun.
To be continued…
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