It is shortly after 1:15 p.m., and I again find myself sitting by the stream on my favorite winding trail where barely a week ago I stared into the eyes of a regal young buck with the velvet still layered on his short stubby antlers. But I am not here to talk about today; I am here to talk about an element of the winding path that brought me here.
It was June of 2004, as I responded to an internal yearning to take my Jeep up into the mountain wilderness of northern Utah, searching for solitude, searching for a connection with something deeper within. On that beautiful day, I was filled to overflowing with a beautiful spirit as I sat at on the brink of a mountain top. A beautiful meadow spread out behind me, as I sat overlooking a majestic valley sprawled out before me. Surrounded by nature’s finest variety of pine trees, aspens, shrubs, bushes, and flowers, I sat on a rock, meditating, writing in my journal, evaluating my past, present, and future, and literally basking in spiritual energy. Memories of the vista still linger near the surface of my soul.
As that spiritual experience unfolded, I found myself making a profound inner commitment. “From this day forward,” I told myself, “I will make every reasonable effort to reconnect with this same spiritual energy as often as possible.” My initial promise was that I would do this once per week, in the mountains—making only rare exceptions.
I also started another tradition: “Once every year, in the June timeframe, I will perform an inventory of my spiritual growth.” Somehow, I knew that this goal would help me to recognize the incredible growth process through which I have been evolving.
My soul vibrated in the passion as I silently committed to these sacred internal vows. My small mortal awareness had no comprehension of the beauty that would gradually unfold as I began gently flowing down this new path.
In the early years, my determination was strong, and I cleared my calendar for at least a half day—every single week, with rare exceptions. Usually having no destination in mind, I simply climbed into my Jeep and began driving, following my instincts as I randomly explored several canyons and remote Jeep trails within 75 miles of my home. Over time, I built up a mental list of favorite hideaways. Sometimes I simply drove on remote mountain trails. Other times I hiked, to a peaceful isolated vista. Usually, I did a combination of both.
The only common denominator for all of these weekly excursions is that I went alone, solo, by myself. These were not social outings—they were my sacred “mountain time.” It was not long before I began to refer to them as my personal vision quests.
Many journeys turned out to be uneventful, with no profound experiences to record in my journal. But that did not discourage me in the least. My passion was fueled by the other trips where my soul was swept away in spiritual rivers, feasting on the incredible energies that bathed my soul as I began to experience a deepening connection with my divine source. Each vision quest was different, carrying me to varying depths of spiritual awareness. On rare occasions, a profound experience would come along—being so powerful that I encountered a tiny glimpse of what heaven must be like. On those days, as the deep tears of gratitude flowed down my cheeks, I found it very difficult to return back to “civilization.”
What amazes me is that I have engaged in these weekly quests regardless of the weather. Whether rain or snow, hot sun or freezing cold, I continue to set aside this sacred time. Perhaps my most dramatic recent experience with the elements was when I went snow shoeing two winters ago in 7 degree below zero temperatures. After hiking two miles in the freezing cold, I was struggling to find the energy to make the return journey. As I fought back the exhaustion, a voice inside told me to hug the trees and ask them to share their energy. Feeling silly at first, I finally told myself, “Why not?”
Every few hundred feet, I stopped at a towering pine tree, gently placed my glove-covered hands on the rough frozen bark, and whispered “Will you share your energy with me?” As strange as it may seem, each time I asked, I sensed an infusion of energy fill my entire body. As my hips and knees briefly stopped hurting, I trudged on a little further until I felt my energy again weakening. Over and over, I repeated this process of faith, hugging another tree every few hundred feet. An hour later, I sat exhausted but safe in the warmth of my jeep.
In the last few years, as my soul connections have deepened, my spiritual quests have been a little more random, more frequent, and shorter in duration. Sometimes the experiences surprise me when I awake in the middle of the night, when I am driving down the freeway, or when I am engaged in deep conversation on the phone with a friend. Even with these added bonuses, I still make an effort to visit nature almost every week, even if the visit is simply spending an hour in a park, strolling along the Jordan River Parkway, or writing and meditating in the town plaza in Cozumel.
As I sit today in my small camping chair, four feet from a small babbling stream, I am almost hypnotized by the constant sound of water splashing rapidly over the rocks. Reflecting on my growth of the past year, I amaze myself with how peacefully I have transitioned into my new spiritual adventures. Just a year ago, my finances were dwindling, and I was preparing to put my house on the market—filled with trust, but at the same time wondering how my future would unfold. Being only two months into my internship, I felt as if graduation were light years away. I had thoughts about pursuing a career in counseling after I finished my masters degree, but had a subtle awareness in the back of my soul that I might soon be following a different path.
Now, just a year later, I am blown away with the clarity of my inner voices, and the profound ‘in-the-moment’ experiences and insights that continue to flow through my soul. Who could ever have imagined that I would be living in Cozumel, writing about my bicycle journeys into self discovery? Twelve short months ago, I was still living on the edges of the “safe” world, still living the majority of my life inside the box. Yes, I was already beginning to poke holes in the box, sticking my arms and legs out to test the surroundings—but I still had a “safety” chain anchored to the center of that box. Little did I know that my safety chain was actually holding me prisoner.
Now, as I begin to break free of the box, tearing it apart with abandon and burning the pieces one by one, I am filled with eager anticipation, yearning to discover what awaits me in the world of surrendering to spirit. As I practice trusting my own internal voices, I cannot wait to find out where they will guide me in the next 12 months.
Peaceful Endings and New Beginnings
As I polish off my words for the day, I find myself sitting on my parents’ headstone—marking the final resting place of their fragile physical remains. The sky is low in the western sky. My watch reads 6:05 pm. A spectacular vista spreads out before me. On my left, the east side of the Wasatch Mountain range towers above the calm blue waters of Deer Creek Reservoir. To the right of the distant waters, directly above my great-grandfather’s old homestead property, the green open meadows of Soldier Hollow are clearly visible. Just 7 short winters ago, this was the site of the cross-country competition for the 2002 Winter Olympics. Straight ahead, clumps of green trees and shingled rooftops are faintly visible as the small mountain towns of Charleston and Midway scatter across the valley. A few miles to my right, the town of Heber City fills in the landscape, bordered by another small range of mountains. What a beautiful peaceful resting place.
Just two short afternoons ago, in this very spot, I whispered my final goodbyes to my mother’s physical remains. Gently placing my hand on her beautiful pale-pink coffin, I carefully removed a silky-white rose from the delicate spray of roses that adorned her casket during the ceremonies. No sod has yet been placed on the grave. Only three large flower arrangements cover the rectangular plot of dry brown soil. The blossoms still show signs of life, reminding me that Mom is not really here. Her beautiful soul is still perfect and whole, eternal and divine, safe and at peace.
Three days in future, I will again be sitting next to an open grave, as my beautiful mother-in-law is laid to rest beside her own wonderful husband, in another pristine mountain setting—a remote mountain valley in southwestern Wyoming.
Very, very soon, my eighth grandchild will be crying her first cry, gasping for her first breath, as she starts a new cycle of life. While she wont’ be taking my mother’s place, she will begin her own life path, creating a beautiful legacy of her own. Hidden treasures continue to manifest all around me. Life is indeed magically beautiful.
© Brenda Larsen, 2009