Almost Charged. A personal photography journal series

From the slope at YMCA of the Rockies where we hosted a week long mindfulness retreat.

Over the past few days, I have been looking through the photographs I made along this journey. I have also been spending time with Forrest Mankins’ work, and some other interesting people’s documentaries.

Something has been quietly coming together.

Forrest Mankins (image from the internet)

I began noticing that people who seem genuinely awake share certain qualities, even when they have never studied the Dharma, and perhaps would never describe themselves as spiritual at all.

There is an aliveness in them.

An unique “tree” on the edge of the cliff near Canyon Land National Park

They seem to live their lives blissfully—not blissful in the sense that nothing difficult ever happens to them, but in the sense that they are actually inside their lives.

They have genuine hearts.
They care.

They are present as much as they know how to be.

And there seems to be remarkably little fear in the way they move through the world—especially the fear of being judged by other people. They do not seem to be constantly asking permission to be themselves.

They are simply, deeply okay with who they are.

Maybe this is something universal about human self-discovery.

An outdoor chapel in the YMCA

A person walking out of the building with the glowing mountain in the background

A retreatant quietly sitting there looking at the stormy mountains.

An airplane flying above a very thick “bouncy” cloud.

We speak about awakening through the language of Dharma because that is the path I am learning. But perhaps human beings have always discovered versions of the same truth through mountains, oceans, friendship, work, art, adventure, failure, solitude, love.

Perhaps the Dharma does not belong to the Dharma.

Perhaps truth keeps revealing itself wherever a human being becomes quiet enough, courageous enough, or alive enough to meet life directly.

Looking through my own photographs from this journey, I feel that something in me has shifted too.

I hesitate to call it happiness.

Maybe this is only the happiness of traveling. Maybe wilderness and solitude have temporarily lifted some weight from me. Maybe I have mistaken a beautiful state of mind for something deeper.

I don't know yet.

But right now, I feel liberated.

I feel extraordinarily positive about being alive.

It feels as though a battery inside me, depleted for a long time, has been slowly charging through every mile of road, every mountain, every empty stretch of desert, every photograph, every encounter with the natural world.

And now the little light is almost green.

Almost charged.

Ready for another adventure.

But perhaps the next adventure is not another road.

The coming Rains Retreat will be a different kind of wilderness.

There will be less movement, less novelty, fewer vast landscapes to disappear into. There will be routine. Other people. Rules. Friction. Boredom. My own judgments. My own habits. Myself.

So I want to put this insight into practice.

Not to prove that I can preserve this happiness.

Not to desperately hold onto the person I have become on the road.

But simply to see:

Does this freedom have solidity?

When the scenery disappears, is it still here?

When someone irritates me, is it still here?

When I am misunderstood or judged, can I still be at ease with myself?

When joy is absent, can I still meet my life completely?

Maybe that will tell me whether what I am feeling now is merely a beautiful state of mind—or whether, somewhere along this journey, something has actually begun to take root.

For now, I don't need to know.

At this very moment, I feel alive.

I feel liberated.

And I am ready to see where this takes me.