A Bit of a Tumble

Iron Mountain is a botanical wonderland in the old Cascade Mountain Range. The area preserves a diversity of wildflowers that grow on both the wetter and dryer side of the Cascades. You can hike from one bioregion to the next and back again within a mile’s distance. This locale hosts at least 300 species that bloom at various times throughout the spring to fall. It has become a kind of pilgrimage location for us forb lovers. The graminoid aficionados are also happy with the abundance of grasses and sedges peppering the landscape.

On this day, Tarn and I identify 73 species of wildflowers in bloom. Anyone’s guess how many we did not see or recognize. We spend a glorious few hours hiking up the mountain and savoring the scene. On the trek back down to our vehicle, however, I am hiking a distance ahead of Tarn and come to an eroded part of the trail which gives way under my boots. I tumble down a steep slope covered in a thick stand of thimbleberry (Rubus parviflorus) plants. Fortunately, they are dense enough to cushion and stem my downward trajectory.

When my descent subsides, I remain motionless for a few minutes and gather my wits. An older couple calls down to me from the trail above, inquiring about my condition. With all my strength, I manage to crawl back to the trail with the aid of my trekking poles—an activity that momentarily distracts me from feeling my bruised body. I thank the other hikers for their kindness in watching over me until I am able to return to the path and find a shady spot in which to sit and wait for Tarn. With Tarn’s watchful support, we return to the truck. I am a bit bruised but seem to be okay.

While we examine my body for cuts and abrasions, I experience a cascade of thoughts moving through my mind. I think about the amazing beauty of the day: the clear weather, wildflowers, kind people, thimbleberry, and the ants and other insects I noticed as I crawled back to the trail. My plunge down the mountain is just another experience in the mix. Maybe if I had gone down the road in an ambulance, it would be different, but I don’t think so. Everything seems to taste the same.

The Mahamudra tradition describes this experience as a “single flavor” state of awareness, where the mind does not make distinctions about the quality of a moment. Everything “tastes” the same. From the Dzogchen perspective, this is expressed as the “innermost one-taste of the wisdom mind.” Our innate wisdom, or Buddha-nature, experiences everything as unchanging and unmoving. Only the ego perceives change and motion, seeking to experience contrast. When we feel the sameness of everything, it is like a bardo of dying to the moment. As in all bardos, we have the chance to recognize the light of our true nature and become overwhelmed by compassion for all beings equally.

Anyway, I hope I did not crush too many insects in my tumble down Iron Mountain. For those that perished, may they have an auspicious rebirth.

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