That's exactly what I did.
 

With only a suitcase, a train ticket, and $300 in my pocket, I pulled up stakes and plunked down in the middle of the Roaring Fork Valley in the Colorado Rockies.The Sopris District includes parts of the Collegiate Peaks wilderness area which contains more fourteeners than any other wilderness area in the lower contiguous 48 states.
 

Having grown up in the Adirondack mountains of upstate New York, and having lived in Denali National Park, AK, I am mountain born and bred. During my first hiking experience in the Colorado Rockies, the scent of fresh sage filled my nostrils, bringing back memories of "smudging" (cleansing and purifying) ceremonies I had done with indigenous peoples in Alaska and with the Lakota Sioux in South Dakota. With this mindset, I started up a natural staircase created by snowmelt.The red soil of the Rockies was something I had never seen on the east coast, but I dreamed of red soil prior to moving to Colorado. Based on this dream, I created a poem (located at the bottom of this post), and by the time it was finished, I knew I was about to embark on a journey, and that I would not be returning to the east coast. A few days after my dream occured, I saw a documentary about the train that runs through Glenwood canyon, and I knew I had just discovered my chariot to the West.
 

Hiking off the beaten path, just south of Glenwood Springs, it was still a bit chilly at the beginning of Spring, so I decided to head into the sun and higher ground. Most of my hiking, prior to moving to Colorado had been done in the old foothills of the Adirondacks, in the Shenandoahs of Virginia, and some in Denali National Park, AK. In these places, my hiking experiences were more overland than straight up a mountain as it is here in the Rockies. I learned to choose each hand and foot placement very carefully because, as I found out, what often appears to be solid - is not. That's a good rule of thumb for life and relationships, too. Take it slow. Situations that seem stable, or what seems like a good idea at the time, may not be.
 

Halfway up the slope, I stopped to take stock of where I was in the larger scheme of things, which is also a good idea in life, on many levels. Whether it's the bigger picture, such as determining where you want to go career-wise, or something more mundane, like simply being aware of your immediate surroundings, taking stock is a good idea. I learned this the hard way in Washington D.C. where I was mugged at gunpoint, one block from where I lived. I learned that if I walk around some areas of the world with my head in the clouds, I'm basically asking to be messed with. I may as well wear a sign around my neck that says, "Hi! My name is Dorothy and this is my dog, Toto. I have no street smarts and I'm an easy target!" However, when I stopped mid-slope to look across the valley to enjoy the glacier-sculpted splendor, I looked down and got an immediate case of vertigo. Before it could grow, however, I quickly shifted my focus and connected with the soil right in front of my face, and said aloud, "Get goin,' Dorothy!"
 

I did lose my footing and slid down the mountain a few feet. It was Spring and things were wet and muddy. When I got to the top of the ridge, I sat on the first available rock to catch my breath. I started daydreaming that I was a photo-journalist for Nat Geo, hanging off the side of a cliff, positioning myself for the perfect shot of an eagle or a mountain lion. As my breathing returned to normal, I headed up the next ridge. The soil was suddenly so soft and pristine. I wished I was wearing moccasins so I would leave a lighter tread. I began to realize that I had crossed a threshhold into another world. I was in somebody else's turf. There were deer and elk tracks and scat everywhere. It looked as if a whole herd had been there. This hike was getting very exciting! What if I came across of herd of elk? Would they know I was benevolent, or would I be trampeled?
I followed their tracks to see where they might lead.
 

At the top of this ridge there were pine cones and orange needles everywhere instead of just rocks. This was the type of terrain that I was familiar with. On the east coast the forrest floors were in your back yard. In Colorado, you have to get to the top of the mountian before you see the "piney-wood hills." Soon, there was snow everywhere. Very crunchy snow. I thought, "soon, every critter in paradise will know I'm here with all this racket." I decided to keep following the tracks into a ravine where there was no snow, but a lot of long grasses. Then I stopped cold. There was no sound at all, except for the slightest crackling noise. Was it the herd?! I bowed my head and listened for the source. I followed the sound and it turned out to be the tiniest little babbling brook I have ever seen. It was barely a trickle of water really, but it was the most peaceful sound I had heard in a long time, and it was the only sound.With greater attention, the sound became magnified as if I were inside it. I followed the stream to its source. I thought about the fact that the sound had a source, and that the source of the sound had a source. I wondered if "sources" kept rippling outward like that through the universe leading back to the original source. There was a hollow in the ground, filled with snow, embraced by the roots of a very old tree. As gravity did its thing, the loveliest brook was created. I'm willing to wager that the tree and the snow did not have to negotiate an alliance in order to create anything. They were just being. Living beings co-existing without any force or control being applied. "Just be," that's my new mantra.
 

Looking at my watch, I realized that I had been hiking for four hours and it only seemed like forty minutes. I love that about the mountains: the magic. The mountain and I make a great pair. We are equals. We share each others energy. That is a good relationship.
 

I never found a herd that day. Instead, I found what I wasn't looking for. I've read that in ancient alchemy, the place where movement and stillness meet is called the "axis mundi" or  "the center of the world." I found the axis mundi that day.

Dream Reality
By Kathryn Preston

I escape the hullaballoo one day

racing down the highway.

Fields of sunburnt daffodils seduce my senses.

I abandon the straight and narrow

knowing I’ll find

what I wasn’t looking for.

Relaxing into the afternoon

under a surly Oak,

whimsical winds caress my hair.

Hypnotized by moody clouds,

I think I see my mother’s face.

Spooked, I run.

Tearing swiftly through tangled branches,

lupine ears upturned,

ancestral whispers strike my drums

like ancient amulets,

crescendoing to chaotic climax.

Trance-like, I am transported

through the crack in the universe

to another point on the continuum.

I climb a spiral stair into the void,

toward the unknown.

Emerging,

I straddle the brink of two worlds.

The vista: endless, undulating:

like fragments of earthenware,

sculpted by hands of ancients,

strewn across time.

While red earth flows through fond fingers,

My soul’s laughter howls across a full moon.
 

Entry Filed under: Environment, Health, Fitness, Sports, Glenwood Springs, Aspen, Colorado, Travel, People, Pitkin County, Garfield County, Hiking, Outdoors, The West, Aspen Life Post, United Post