Resolute

The day after Christmas, I retreated to the woods.

Further into the woods, that is. I’d already left my wi-fi, my cellphone reception, and anything explicitly resembling Christmas.

It was terrible weather for a vacation: unusually cold, with a heavy gray mist just above the ground. I took one bike ride, but finished six books in six days. That kind of weather.

The park ranger, either from habit or because she hadn’t left the ranger station all day, recommended a hike to the park’s highest point. “It’s the best view in town,” she said. I knew there was no way it could amount to much in the fog, but I needed to think and to stretch my legs, no matter the outcome.

The path was a treacherous mix of wet, slick, granite and loose chunks of limestone. I’d planned a biking vacation, not a hiking trip, so I was left to pick my way carefully in my summer canvas shoes.

This was the “spectacular” view that waited for me at the top; the reward for a quite brisk mile uphill.

As I very gently navigated my way back down the hill, I found myself thinking of a phrase Joan Halifax uses: the path is the temple.

I didn’t have the luxury of ignoring the walk and focusing on the view. The view had all-but disappeared, and a moment’s inattention to the ground would have splayed me flat. Instead, I was compelled to be exactly and totally in the present moment, and the present moment was a profound place to be.

2018 is beginning in a very uncertain place. Too much is up in the air for me to make plans and draw maps. Instead, I will be focusing on this little place, this bit of the path right before my feet.

The path is the temple.