During the mid 90's I spent most of my time in the woods learning primitive skills, tracking, and about nature in general. It was on one winter night that I had a particularly amusing event involving a fox.

I had gone to Hanging Rock State Park in January and setup camp in the public campground. On that evening I had the entire campground to myself, well mostly...

I went on a drive down the California coastal highway last night to do some thinking. I started to think it would be nice to bowl a couple of games at Sea Bowl, a bowling alley that overlooks the Pacific ocean and looks like a building straight out of the Jetsuns.

Anyway, the lanes were all booked for another 2 hours when I got there so I got back in the car, but instead of getting back on the highway, I went up the road behind the alley that seemed to beckon me. Little did I know that the road would dead end into a trailhead. So why not take a hike?

It was beautiful! The trail went up a ridge that encircled a huge valley. I looked the place up on the internet and discovered I was on Milagra Ridge overlooking Pacifica. I could see for miles by the moonlight. The air was thick with the smell of varying sage bushes. It was this same smell over 4 years ago that welcomed me to California. I wasn't able to figure out which plants emmitted the fragrance then, but it was easy on this night. But then again, 4 years ago I was barely alive it seems.

The moon rose over the top of the ridge I was climbing, welcoming and beckoning me. This was the first night hike I had been on in too many years. Sure, I had made a few attempts. The last one was cut short by a mountain lion. I had only gotten about 20 yards from the car before I had to turn around. But this night was different. Ever since I left the monastery six years ago the woods did not welcome me. But this night was different. In the past, if I attempted to force my way in, I was quickly ejected, like the instance with the mountain lion. But again, this night was different.

The moonlight was intoxicating. At times, it was encircled by a giant rainbow ring. When I reached the first crest, I could see out over the ocean which was incredibly lit on this night. To the North, I could see San Francisco, my home, which was about 12 miles away. Such a contrast! All the distant city lights versus the wide expanse of a mostly treeless and lightless (except the moon) mountain chain. Turning to the East there's a deep valley, undeveloped and void of lights to my delight, and another long range of mountains beyond it that circle to the South and meet the Ocean.

Wow! You see, I'm from North Carolina where I fell in love with the Appalachian Mountains. But who knew that you could be in the mountains and at the ocean at the same time!

So over the crest I went. For another six hours, I wandered, stopping frequently to sit, think, sing, and pray. It was sort of a reunion for me, with land and spirit. I had not felt this way since I last walked in the Pine barrens of New Jersey seven years before. Six years ago, I thought I had lost everything, including my heart. It's been a very painful six years interspersed with periods of numbness. But this past January, something began to stir. And on this night, I heard its voice.

You know what it said?

I'm still here!