I took this photo while hiking in southern Colorado’s Sangre de Cristo mountains. As I look at it, I am sent back to that day, and the feeling I had when I came out of the trees into that sunny meadow. The beautiful shape of the mountains ahead beckoned to me like a mother, with open arms inviting me into a warm embrace. I walked on in, dissolving into the landscape without a backward look. Gone. Really gone. Truly, ultimately gone. Like it says in the mantra at the end of the Heart Sutra: “Om gate gate paragate parasamgate Bodhi Svaha.”
That sense of dissolving, of becoming joyfully invisible, also suggests that I am at home with nature—gently cradled in the harmony and balance described by the Taoists. In my heart and my gut, I am more at home there than anywhere else. Here is a Taoist vision of beginningless, endless ease from Lao-Tzu’s Tao Te Ching (Steven Mitchell translation):
“Approach it and there is no beginning;
Follow it and there is no end.
You can’t know it, but you can be it,
At ease in your own life.”
The trail followed a stream for a while, then veered left into some willows to a rocky shelf just above treeline. Near the little dip between the two high spots in the photograph, there’s a small outlier of wind-sheared pines, then a little rise and then the big view. Ahead of me and below were two lovely little sun-dappled lakes…inviting, but too far down a steep pitch. I sat down for lunch at the overlook with a rock for a backrest.
On this day, as on many others, I was hiking alone—a relatively high-risk but satisfying habit. I do solo hikes because companions are either far away, dead, or unwilling to take on the long distances and early starts that I prefer. That leaves me with a choice between not going at all (a terrible and unacceptable option) or going with certain rules in place: nothing technical or “sporty,” all the survival essentials in my pack, and a detailed plan that others know about.
This particular hike began and ended outside of Crestone where we were camping for a few days. As I made my way back down the trail, I was about a mile from the trailhead when I encountered my first people of the day. They were talking quietly, but I still found myself distracted by the intrusive quality of the human voice.
Joyful invisibiity is enhanced by silence. Not absolute silence, just the absence of speech. When I hike with companions, it is a measure of our closeness when we walk for stretches without talking. When I hike alone, I listen, think and sometimes sing as I go up the steep places. My favorite steep-pitch song is “Green Grow The Rushes-O.”
Joyful invisibility can a gift to carry in the “civilized” world—like a superpower. I discovered this one day last fall, while solo hiking in a state park. I had stepped off the trail for a tea break. Sitting about 15 feet away from the trail, I set my backpack down and parked myself on a rock. A couple came up the trail, talking, and walked right past me without noticing I was there. I made no effort to conceal myself and my clothes were bright. Just like magic, I was invisible! It surprised me, but the instinct to blend in is a common trait among introverts like myself. I like not being noticed and I appreciate the side benefits of that. Remember the old saying, “I’d like to be a fly on the wall?” When I go unnoticed, I enjoy my surroundings and soak up information like a sponge.
Most older women understand what it feels like to slowly become invisible. The world responds to youth and beauty. But I have observed that getting noticed sometimes comes with a cost. That was never something I strove for, though I always took care of my appearance. Big attention was something I didn’t want to pursue.
As an introverted adult who was also a very shy child, being the center of attention was never good. My awkwardness and shyness were targets for the class bullies and the cliques. Run and hide was the thing I wanted to do.
Now that I’m 68 years old, I am very comfortable when I’m not on the radar screen. Being low-key means I am free to move throughout my world with just a small ripple. Low-key, low-maintenance, just off the trail and enjoying a nice cup of tea. Re-entering the world if and when I feel like it. Joyfully invisible and ready for what the world hands me. As Lao-Tzu puts it, “…She steps out of the way and lets the Tao speak for itself.”
