The Wisdom of a Mountain

5/13/2020

The Wisdom of a Mountain

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Cobb Mountain, California. August 6, 2019. View from Boggs State Forest.

I planned a hike up Cobb Mountain, which happens to be the mountain I live on and tallest mountain in the Mayacamas Mountain range in Northern California. I chose a Friday during the shelter in place period of the Covid-19 pandemic even though I was warned by my partner, Jim, that it would be hot. He recommended waiting a day or two, but my intuition was strong. It said ‘no, Friday.’

Thursday of that week came and it was an unusually difficult day. I took on the weekly shopping for us, as Jim is in a high risk category for the virus. I went to five stores and each excursion entailed wearing a mask, using alcohol soaked wipes as gloves to touch anything in the store, being hyper aware of social distancing—which is next to impossible when isles are less than six feet wide, and then spraying everything with alcohol once at the car.

Add to that, working with the inherent judgments that arise for those not wearing masks and those not even attempting to honor social distancing, taking time to implore store management to require masks for all patrons, and taking time to catch up on news. By the time I returned home, I was exhausted, stressed and discouraged. The virus was now acting in differing ways, there was the growing conflict with those that wanted to open up the economy and those that felt it was too risky, and the ongoing saga of mishandled leadership as the administration continued to stumble along.

All this was a perfect storm for feeling hopeless, sad and depressed. And I did. I got home and cried in the shower--the shower that now needed to follow a trip into town just to be sure every chance of the virus' survival is washed away.

The next morning I packed my daypack and drove to the entrance of the abandoned road that led to the peak. Having realized I had only partially scaled the mountain after the Valley Fire in 2015, I packed up a little meditating dog figure, some of Shyla’s ashes and hair, and decided to make it a pilgrimage to the top.

The first and only time I hiked to the top was with a good friend in the spring of 2015, just months before the fire. I took pictures of many sacred elder Douglas Fir and Pine trees we saw on that hike. Now, I was super curious to see what survived and what didn’t. Did any of them survive?

The day was cooler than predicted and my body felt strong. It wasn’t too far up in altitude that the living forest gave way to a vast area of enormous dead trees surrounded with 4 1/2 years worth of shrubby growth—stubble, really, in relation to the height of the ghostly poles.

The dogwoods were broad and brilliant, over six feet tall and in bloom with substantially larger blossoms than those near my home. The madrones were strutting their large shiny new leaves and wildflowers were prolific.

It was here that I remembered the the Mountain Meditation--a common meditation in the mindfulness world. The idea is that with all the things that pass on the surface and in the life of a mountain—daytime, nighttime, light, shadow, nice weather, stormy weather, flora, fauna, seasons, and even fires—the mountain remains in it’s majestic stillness, solidity and sacredness.

I was witnessing and experiencing this literally as I climbed still higher and saw places that I remembered from the original hike. At one point, I saw the remains of a tree I remembered taking a picture of because of how uniquely it had grown after it’s top had been severed. I filtered through my photos searching back and found it, green and strong surrounded by a green and strong forest. Now, it was but a ginormous charred disfigured stick among a forest of charred sticks.

And yet, the mountain remained.

One of many elder trees lost in the Valley Fire of 2015. May, 2020. (Vertical panorama.)

“Great things are done when men and mountains meet.” William Blake

Cool kinked tree pre-Valley Fire. Cobb Mountain, CA. April, 2015.

Kinked tree after Valley Fire. Cobb Mountain, CA. May, 2020.

The more I climbed, the more it felt like the High Sierras where fewer and fewer live trees survived in the stark and difficult terrain. When I made it to the top, it was as I suspected and as I had seen from the road far below, the crown of the mountain was a convex bowl of large charred toothpicks, save the few cell towers and human made apparatus’ that supported their operation.

As I roamed from one barren peak to the next, it felt like a Sci Fi movie where I had landed on a dead planet and longingly searched for life. At the second cell tower station, I climbed on the tallest rock formation to capture a panorama photo and just down the hill, toward the first station, I noticed some green. Sure enough, as I looked more closely, it was one large standing green conifer. A tree survived??! Wow! In the midst of all the surrounding death. That would definitely be where I created the altar.

I scrambled across the land to discover not one, but some six trees standing with the very tops of their crowns green. Would they survive? Well, it had been over four years and here they were.

Bits of an ode surfaced in my mind. These trees are now the elders of the mountain—well for the top of the mountain, anyway. They will be the ones that repopulate their kind over the generations to come.

Just how long had it been since the fire, I thought? Siri calculated it and it was exactly 1,700 days prior. I didn’t want to come the day before or the day after, no, my intuition said today. Today.

One of the six remaining living conifers on the crown of Cobb Mountain. May, 2020.

I placed the meditating dog, hair and ashes at the base of the tallest and strongest looking tree and wrote this homage in my travel journal:

May 8, 2020

Exactly 1,700 days ago the Valley Fire of 2015 decimated this forest.
Some six conifers remain near the top and have become the elders of this part of the forest.
They are charged with helping to repopulate the forest and look over it’s well being for generations to come.

To these trees:

May you be healthy and strong and may all your offspring and their offspring be healthy and strong, and so on.

This altar is in honor of your relatives—those that have passed and those that will come.

Thank you for your dignity, wisdom and life giving to all the creatures of the forest.

With deep regards,

JoAnn

Then, aside the tree I settled in and meditated on the mountain, as the mountain, for the mountain.

The wisdom from the mountain? Yes, despots and empires rise and fall. Humans will do terribly small and reprehensible things to each others. Pandemics will come and go. Economies will crash. And....a billion-and-one acts of kindness will result from such things, such as the surviving trees offering their body as a home to the birds, ants, and more after a devastating fire takes virtually all of her relatives.

And the mountain remains, bearing witness to it all. Holding it all. Steady, stable, grounded and rooted deeply into the earth.

What wisdom do you find in mountains?

Author

JoAnn Saccato, MA, is a certified teacher with the Mindfulness Training Institute, life coach, author and consultant. She is the author of Companioning the Sacred Journey: A Guide to Creating a Compassionate Container for Your Spiritual Practice and Mindful and Intentional Living: A Path to Peace Clarity and Freedom.

Mindfulness is an umbrella term used for a large body of popular health and wellness practices based on purposefully bringing a curious, kind and non-judgmental attention to moment by moment experience. It is a scientifically proven approach that helps reduce stress and stress-related illnesses, increase focus and attention, decrease incidences of and relapses with depression, reduce anxiety, reduce relapses in addiction, and aids in sleep and digestive disorders. It has also been shown to increase well being, life satisfaction and happiness, as well as improved social relationships.

You can reach JoAnn at [email protected]. To follow her visit: www.MindfulAndIntentionalLiving.com

9 Comments

Auntie Carol

5/17/2020 10:48:23 am

Hi Love, that was very nice, except, I don't think you should take a hike like that alone.. I am not one for hiking, but it does sound like it would be a very rewarding hike.. I am one for sitting out on my deck, and looking at the Beautiful trees in my neighbors yard.. and of course trying to tell God that I do need help.. Talk about having a bad week, like the virus isn't enough... Sat. the 9th. Laurie tripped and fell, getting ready for Michelle's baby shower.. Broke her shoulder and her arm.. went in for Surgery Friday, all went well.. Pat had surgery on Wed. the 13, all is fine with him.. and Jim had to have his dog, that he has had for 15 years, put down.. He had cancer surgery a couple of months ago, and never really got well.. So, did I have a bad week? You bet I did, and if it wasn't for You, trying to teach me to relax, I probable wouldn't have gotten any sleep.. So I do Thank you.... All is better.. not really good, but better... In todays paper, Grandmas House on Wilson St. is up for sale again.. asking $765,ooo. and to think we sold it for $80,000.. Take Care and Please, stay well....

JoAnn Saccato, MA link

5/24/2020 01:33:48 pm

Oh, Auntie Carol, that is quite the week! I'm sorry to hear about Laurie and I'm glad Pat's surgery went well. Please give Jim my condolences--losing my canine companion of 15 years was one of the biggest losses I've had, so I completely understand! I'm glad you were able to use some mindfulness practices to help with sleep this week. I have you in my heart all the time.

And I appreciate your concern about hiking alone, so I won't tell you about the 2 week solo backpacking trip I'm planning in the fall. (wink wink!)

Love you...JoAnn

Claire Carter-Huston

5/17/2020 12:13:19 pm

It almost feels like I was there with you. Thank you for all that you give and all that you are.

5/24/2020 01:35:27 pm

Thank you Claire. I'm glad it could touch you--I'm always wondering if what I write can get through--it makes sense in my mind, but I wonder how it gets translated through the writing!

Nicki

5/20/2020 08:18:37 pm

Thank you for this. You are such a great writer.

5/24/2020 01:37:50 pm

Thank you, Nicki. I appreciate hearing that.

Mary

5/20/2020 09:52:19 pm

Those contrasting photos are amazing! I could see them framed at the MAC.
The Mountains, that mountain in particular is showing signs of life. I find it very healing and feel hopeful for what will come.

5/24/2020 01:39:57 pm

I was really surprised when I came upon that tree--I recognized it so clearly! Good idea about maybe displaying them at the MAC sometime.

Yes, there is much life there! It gives me hope, too!

Joanie Lane link

5/24/2020 01:30:40 pm

I was deeply moved when I read your story of “The Wisdom of a Mountain”. I love how you listened to your intuition, (which is nature guiding us along), to hike that particular day. Obviously nature had a message for you. A deep and personal message only for you.

I feel there is a message in this COVID-19. Like all the other coronaviruses, nature speaks to us in such simple, quiet and in vaguely nuanced ways, that sometimes we miss it. We are often so busy bustling through life that we don’t hear the still and quiet voice of Mother Earth telling us we must slow down and help her.

Many of us, (you being one) know this in our hearts. And when we pause we hear the message clearly and allow nature to guide us. We seem to know instinctually when to be more conscious of how to care for our planet and each other. And because of our sensitivity and our being in sync with nature, we feel, ourselves, deeply wounded when injury to her has become so deep and inconsequential by so many people caught in the dysfunction of greed and selfishness.

When we witness these selfish and destructive acts we feel the wounds as if the attacks were directed at us. When we see people so deep in denial that they refuse to cover their faces to keep others safe it is beyond our comprehension. The blatant disregard for another's safety cuts us deeply because we would never be so reckless with the lives of children, elderly and everyone in between.

I saw a video last week of a man who refused to wear a mask. A reporter interviewed him and asked why not wear the mask? His response was that between only 1% to 2% of the population will die because of COVID-19 and he didn’t feel that was enough of a threat to worry about. The reporter then said, “Well, there are 20,000 (or whatever the number was) people in this city and only 1% of them would be 200. This is what that would look like.” (Obviously this was set up specifically for this man and was recorded to make a point). At this time 200 people came around the corner and in front of the group was this man’s family and friends. The reporter now asked him, “So this is okay with you?” Upon seeing his wife, children, mother, father, brothers, sisters and a number of friends, he broke down and cried. “No!”, he said. The reporter explained to him that even if these people didn’t catch the virus from him as an a-systematic carrier they could very well catch it from someone else who refused to wear a mask.

Like the mountain you visited, clearly healing from those scars from over 1700 days ago, our planet has spoken loudly and clearly, for those of us who will listen. By taking time off from the constant battering of our planet, it has begun to heal. The air is clean, the water too. The animals are reclaiming their spaces, fish are larger in number, and even the birds sound happier. It is so obvious that we need nature more than it needs us, yet many still refuse to take the mask from their eyes and put it over their mouths.

We must be the ones who speak out, as you have so beautifully done with your writing of this particular day.

The wildness of nature, and its ability to remain wild in spite of us, is a billboard across the sky of humanity, (if only we would see it) to stop fighting about who is right or wrong. Stop the polarizing of “us” and “them”. Stop the judgements and struggles against each other and come together to make the changes that will keep us all healthy.

When we get to a place where we can agree to disagree and still be kind to each other, we will be free from this and other viruses because we will then be good stewards of this earth. We will leave a “better normal” for our great-grandchildren. And in order to do this we must continue to bare our hearts to the world, educate others, and speak out when we see a wrong being done.

I want to encourage you to share your story of that day not only in your newsletter, but everywhere you can. Just like you spoke up to the store managers to impress upon them the importance of requiring people to wears mask, whether they follow your suggestion or not, it took courage and fortitude to confront them and it will take even more to post your essay on Facebook and other social media sites because we both know the lash back you will get from those people in denial. But if you continue to fight the good fight, you know it is worth it. This is good practice for us to continue the path we walk in spite of the adversity from our fellow human beings.

Thank you, JoAnn, for sharing your crying jag in the shower and for showing your sensitivity and vulnerability to all we have already suffered in this county. Your strength is in your honest and sensitive heart and I love you for that, and for all you do to make this a better world.

With love and respect,
Joanie Lane
Director of “A Positive Light” Meditation and Spiritua

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