Magic Walking

Mile 2,148 - Cascade Locks, Oregon

“I wonder if the snow wants to be black; if the soil thinks she’s too dark; if butterflies want to cover up their marks; if rocks are self-conscious of their weight; if mountains are insecure of their strength…” -Naimi

It is without thought, an impulse ingrained from years and years of practice. I am living without mirrors for days on end, only glancing my reflection in swirling pools and emerald lakes. I don’t care so much as what stares back as how deep I can go below the surface, or how cool and refreshing the water will feel

against my skin. With all this time without flat, glassed mirrors, it always comes as a shock when I notice my fingers sliding to the bottom of my shirt to check the state of my body in the first bathroom mirror I can find off trail. My body gives me so many gifts each day: strong, enduring legs to climb up and over beautiful, rugged peaks, ears that pick up the ethereal trills of a hermit thrush each morning, eyes that (with a little help) can  witness all the changing colors and textures and light this world offers, skin that feels warmth of the sun’s rays, softness of mosses, and sandy sharpness of rock, a nose that can smell the butterscotch bark of a ponderosa and the fresh fragrance of blooming wildflowers, a tongue that tastes sticky sweetness and spicy heat, and a brain that integrates all of these sensations and experiences into story. All these gifts, and I concern myself with what I see in the mirror. I have hiked to the tallest point in the lower 48, have walked over 2,000 miles across this country with 30+ pounds on my back, and yet I still measure my strength and value by whether or not the mirror in town shows me the “right” amount of bone, thinness, or tone.

My body is my tether to this world, my anchor to each present and moment, and yet it is the part of myself that I so often feel the most disconnected from. This is the lesson of my life, the one I keep coming back to over and over again. It’s not about what your body looks like. It’s not even about what your body can do as I have so often claimed before. To me, it’s about how embodied I am in any given moment. My body is my tether to the here and now, the way I experience this world. How connected do you feel to your experience of life, your one life, on this planet?

My body is not a temple to worship within, it is not a machine to fuel, these are inanimate objects. My body is alive: a deeply feeling, excitable, wound-able animal needing nourishment, experience, movement, and life.

If I only ever see myself from the two dimensional surface of the mirror, I remain shallow. How does a mountain know her depth if she only ever sees herself through the flat reflection of the lake? The only way to see the real truth is to let go of any idea or notion to how you think the truth will look. I think the truth of the strength of my body looks like a six pack and toned shoulders and legs. The truth actually looks like a smile spread wide across my face while sweat streams from my brow as I climb higher and higher. The truth actually looks like the shocked clench of my body hitting snow melt water and diving in anyway. The truth actually looks like me, just as I am. Dive beneath the surface. Be held. You are magic walking.

Where do you feel truly held in your power, beauty, and body? What strength, value, and beauty do you feel in your body today?