There is a trail through that deep snow. It's mostly one snowshoe track to another, but it's there. As I trekked up the fire trail toward the Mills Lake/Loch junction through snow that was so deep that I had to raise each foot up several inches in order to put one down in the next track, I was glad it was a bright sunny day. I was in the shadows a lot, but the sun was shining.
It was like the recent weeks' have been, a lot of the time has been spend with dark memories, dark pain--and my dark side, but I know that bringing those experiences and pain to the surface allows God's light--the best--to shine on them for healing. And the steps are, like those on the trail, sometimes high--and I can't see what's through the trees or around the next curve.
Another part of the winter trail experience was that I went out for this snowshoe alone--and I didn't see anyone as I stopped and started up the fire trail (and it's the one most used in the winter). I would learn that there was enough snow on the summer trail, and that those few who were out were on it--spring tourists for the most part. The hardest journeys are those inside and are journeys of faith--between us and God or as the 12-steppers say, our higher powers. It would have been good to share the snowshoe; however, I noticed little things that I might not have seen had I been talking or looking out for my companion of this year's snow hikes.
with my various commitments and don't stop and listen and see, I am apt to get lost or miss the signs along the way. So as I muse about having a special companion--or having others with whom to share the spiritual journey in ways I don't now have, I remember that much of that work is done in silence.
My I-phone didn't capture the sparkle of the icicles. They were lovely. And I know I have photos of some cascading down the rocks below from other years in the spring's melt, but each year they are different--as different as the insights from old stuff I have previously visited at some level.
As I started down the summer trail, I met the two men I had seen at the trail head coming up the trail. They asked how I got there before they did as they were unfamiliar with the trail I had taken. That is not a question I get in life. Instead, the question is more likely to be, "Haven't you handled all that stuff before? Aren't you done?" I am looking forward to spring flowers, and this week's rain should bring them out. I'm hopeful that with the flowers, a leveling off will come; but the answer is 'no." This is a lifetime journey with lots of grace notes along the way.
Last Friday I had set out to snowshoe to The Loch, a favorite I've missed this season. I did not attempt the final leg, as there were many "hills" that aren't usually there as I hiked up the fire trail. I had a time deadline in Boulder too, and that handled any wild ideas of a big push--one I sometimes get after a brief rest. I now avoid--most of the time--having goals in mind as I travel the spiritual journey. I used to say, "I'm almost through with this or that." Some of you remember those days. Now, as I break open another big piece as I did earlier this week, I know that it will spin and unravel many skeins before it can be cleared away and another piece moves into the upward pattern. Co-leading the St. John's Healing Ministry Discernment Group is probably not the way to have a smooth road upon which to travel--but who says that smooth is the best?! Exercising those spiritual muscles must be as good for us as that of exercising our body's muscles.
Until next time--with hope that the photos won't be of snow!
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