Last night, I went on a hike with someone I barely know but who strikes me as an “anam cara” or “soul friend” in Gaelic. In anticipating this hike, I found myself wondering what wisdoms we may pass to one another and why we crossed paths in the first place. Consider this: we’ve taught in the same department since January and have offices a few doors away from each other but only met a week or so ago. Whatever the case, I suspect that I have something to offer this person and he to me. Time will reveal what those messages are, though. I need only to be patient.

Life is funny sometimes. I’ve been yearning for a friend here with whom I can discuss matters of spirituality for some time. And, just as I may have discovered that person, I am set to move elsewhere. ‘Tis okay. Sometimes people appear in your life for a very specific, albeit, fleeting purpose.

Sigh. Back to the hike.

We tackled the side of Mount Sentinel in Missoula, which is visible anywhere in Missoula and certainly by the air, as the mountain has been neatly incised with a large and unmistakable white M. But, we didn’t hike the trail to the M. Instead, we chose a trail off the beaten path, where our only company was that of wildflowers, some deer and, perhaps, another hiker or two. We set out at dusk when the mountain was quiet and the air was fresh. At one point, we stopped to breathe in honeysuckles and to rub our fingers against supple wild sage.

My spirit was elated and felt refreshed.

After 9pm, we turned our backs to the trail and our faces towards the setting sun. Dipping lower and lower until it brushed against indigo hued mountains, the sun was magnificent. It boldly sank, as if a coloratura soprano drenched in red was sinking to the stage in a gracious bow. It was regal, a tad arrogant and splendid. There was a period of time in which everything was cast in a golden light. I felt as if the sun itself was reaching into my core and charging it with both beauty and vitality. Mountains seemed to blush against the sun’s rays. Everything revealed its beauty and sparkled with some unknown quality.

I have rarely seen anything so exquisite.

We didn’t speak but were still. Somehow it seemed unorthodox to break the sun’s hold or to comment on this reddened and diminishing orb.

Eventually, we both surfaced and the conversation turned to Buddhism and the power of meditation. I have been lax in my meditative practice lately, and I felt this was a gentle nudge to continue dipping into myself and be still, just as the sun dipped and was still.

I keep a Native American prayer by my bed and read it at night before I fall into slumber. One of its points is to become aware of the lessons hidden in nature…to see what is before us.

I have been reminded in a lovely, comfortable way of what I need to do and how to right what’s amiss in my life.

The Shadowlands, then, are not so much about feeling desolated but about feeling consoled by the silence which these times afford us. If we listen carefully and silence our moans and groans of protest, we may be surprised by the wisdom which awaits us.