Pilgrimage

I arrive at Panther Meadows, a free campsite atop Mount Shasta, an active volcano in northern California towering a behemoth 14,000 feet above sea level.

I take my time finding an open campsite and unpack my gear. Amidst towering pines and silence, I feel humbled and journal and meditate for a few moments before a couple walks by and asks, “Are you the park ranger?”

Feeling a nudge to explore the area, I hop to my feet and follow a narrow stream carving its way down the mountainside. I find a secluded spot, take off my clothes, and bathe freely in the alpine spring waters. To dry off, I soak in the sun. It feels so good, I do it again… a symbolic gesture of being twice-born.

Bees buzz around me as I redress and trek back to my site. Along the way, I cross paths with a group of nine or ten backpackers looking for a place to set up for the night. I tell them my spot is big enough to share and they clap and cheer as we head back together.

We settle in rather quickly; tents go up as if by magic, and before I know it, there’s a group whipping up a feast for dinner: a salad of greens, miso soup with eggplant and cucumbers, and juicy buffalo burgers. A few others wander over from neighboring campsites and share in the food and joy.

We laugh and talk and play thinking games into the night. We trade stories and legends about the mountain:

“A tribe native to the area tells a story about one of their gods who was born from the volcano. He stepped down and left a giant footprint, where we’re camped now. You can see the shape from the sky.”

We stare in awe at the peaks in the distance. Someone asks, “I wonder if that’s where the Bigfoot legend comes from?” A few people chuckle in agreement and we talk about Sasquatch and the Yeti of the Himalayas.

“There’s one legend about an ancient people called the Lemurians who live in the middle of the mountain. They’re invisible to the human eye, but sometimes at night you can see light-filled orbs flashing above the trees.”

“Yeah and rumor has it, there’s a huge sheet of ice on one side of the mountain. If you walk up to it with a pure and innocent heart, you can pass through into the bejeweled halls and corridors where they live.”

“Whoa.”

As the stars become more pronounced and our bodies and minds tire, we wander off to sleep. I awake in the middle of the night and meditate for a few moments. I breathe in the moonlight and star-scape and drift back to dream life easily.

In the morning we awake one by one and chatter like birds until everyone is up. Very naturally we separate into two groups: one who practices kundalini breathing exercises and the other who prepares breakfast. We meet in the middle and eat together.

After talking a bit more about life and dreams, we clean up, pack up, and pile into a van. We drive to the base of the mountain to the City of Shasta “Where Heaven Meets Earth” and say our goodbyes to those who are going different directions. I take a ride with those going south and get dropped off in Sacramento.

After hitching 500 miles, coming down from the pinnacle of my trip, I couldn’t have asked for more: a group of like-minded folks spontaneously gathering and sharing in the freedom and magic of a pilgrimage.