Liquid Mountain

“Blue herons are very large birds. In captivity, they exhibit signs of stress. But if you paint them very small you can keep them. They fly, but they never fly away.”
-Lidia Millet "Elegy for an Altered Planet"

It’s April 24th and an email magically appears in my inbox. It’s from an educational tech company and the subject line reads: Say goodbye to boring! Delete. I love boring. I like pencil on paper. I like my bikes. I like the quiet of the morning. I love sitting still even though its hard. Seth Godin said, “Don’t just do something, stand there.” Standing is good too. I like bird songs and old roads and sprouting seeds. I like the chicken coop that we turned into a sauna. It’s utilitarian and small and simple. It smells like cedar and does what it’s supposed to do and no more. Water crashes on the hot rocks and forms a sizzling pillow of steam, racing to the ceiling and our faces. I like that simple pleasure. The most exciting thing is not having to be excited. What if you sat down and truly had nothing to do, nowhere to be? Would that be boring? Not for me.

The modern digital world froths and churns to entertain us. The algorithm was built for engagement but it doesn’t seem to solve much. The robin was born with the requisite answers. It doesn’t scroll for happiness, it prowls for worms, ignoring the bird-feeders. We sometimes worship a different kind of endless feed. The natural world could care less about what video we find exciting. Thankfully arrogance conjured from likes and kudos and views evaporates when confronted with real nature. Nature doesn’t care about what's cool. Think back to the last time you were caught in a cold rainstorm. The rain doesn’t care if you’re mad at it or if you ask nicely. It doesn’t care what your job title happens to be or how many push up’s you can do. Cold is cold. When you think you’re in charge, a few soaking minutes is all it takes to flip that notion on its head. Sitting in cold water is potent. Too potent to let an ego go unchecked. You can’t boss the water any more than you can boss a mountain. Cold water is a liquid mountain. Cold water is the training partner that will eventually make you tap. Cold water reminds us of our humanness. Cold water reminds us of our weakness. Cold water reminds us of our strength. Cold water is nature magnified. Cold water is beautifully boring.

It’s 6:08am and the water in the tub looks like tar under the moonlight. Every morning for the past five months, a contradiction appears like the stars above. I don’t want to be in the water. I want to be in the water.

The practice is too hard.
The practice is very challenging.
I can probably do it.
I did it yesterday.
I can do it.

I trust yesterday’s discovery and squeeze through a gap in the excuses. I sink slowly, fully submerged, holding my breath in a crisp underwater world where everything is being asked of me all at once. Everyday, I’m surprised. I’m surprised that I was born with some of the answers. I poke my head up for a frog’s eye view, no longer attempting to ride a bull. A cacophony of birds layer one beautiful song over another and it fills my ears. I see a complaint and let it unwind. I sit in full surrender through a couple songs until I tap, expectedly and respectfully. After I get out of the water, the idea of skipping the next day seems ridiculous. How could I?

The next morning it’s 42 degrees and overcast. How did a day pass so quickly? The water is still cold. I find myself thinking of more comfortable things to do. This is my reminder that I still have work to do. I still believe in the practice so I begin again. Maybe tomorrow will be something new. 

Charley Crockett said “You’re certainly welcome to hard times.” and I believe him. I prefer to choose my hard times whenever possible. I practice for the inevitable hard times to come, sometimes later in the day. I practice for the burning friction that we don’t get a say in. Natural friction is my reward. The type of friction that the ego wants no part of. Friction means loss. Winning is the ego’s way.

Zen Master, Shunryn Suzuki said “When we have no thought of achievement, no thought of self, we are true beginners. Then we can really learn something.”

The cold water obliterates any notion that success is contingent on winning. Success is participating, experiencing, surrendering and eventually learning. There is no win.

Last week, I was asked to submit a quote about the bike club that I co-advise at school. I inadvertently responded like ChatGPT-4:

“The strength of the bike club rests in its ability to connect our active and talented students with our amazing natural landscapes. Adventuring through local trail networks in a safe, inclusive, fun and adventurous way is the simple goal. At its core, I hope our bike club allows students to have real, challenging experiences in nature where they feel empowered to be great teammates and resilient leaders…”

We’re a clever, literate species aren’t we? Try again.

“Move yourself. Walk. Ride your scooter or unicycle or bike or run or swim or {insert movement}. Get lost literally. Repeat and repeat and repeat. If you feel uncomfortable, that’s good. Explore that. If you want to do this with other people, meet us for a friendly bike club ride this Thursday at 3:05pm.”

Closer. Try again.

“Move yourself. It’ll likely be uncomfortable. Maybe Thursday after school at the bike rack?” 

Carving something down to an elementary level inches us closer to the moment where no words are needed. I’d prefer to lead the kids on a silent ride on the trails and let them snake down Uncas or switchback up Hawkeye without telling them how amazing it is, without telling them how healthy it is to exercise or how lucky they are. A ride devoid of preaching the merits of fresh air or camaraderie or doing challenging things. Maybe a wordless retreat where the cold and the wind conspire with dirt to be the only teacher. Raw nature exposes lots of things. It shows the poverty of our language to convey feelings. It makes us uncomfortable. Most importantly, it shows us that we are nature too. We’re not a painted bird to be contemplated on a wall. Inconveniently, we’re a heron that needs to fly.

木漏れ日,
Andy