Solitary Spirituality
by Patty Mooney

I am born alone, and I die alone. Or so I think. If I really want to get down to it, first I must realize, as the Beatles once so prolifically melodized, Love is all there is. If Love is everything, that means I am Love. And how can I be alone if I am everything?

So I am not alone. But why do I cling to that illusion? So I can maintain sanity and consistency in my life. What causes me to forget about Love? So I can fool myself into believing I am separate from others. Am I so swept up into the Realities of life that I have forgotten who I really am? And what I am here to do?

What am I here to do? After my years of adolescent angst, tumultuous twenties, tenuous thirties, frivolous forties, and now fantastic fifties, I’ve decided that I am here to be happy and enjoy my body, to share myself with my husband, and to walk with him hand-in-hand into the sunset. I will show you the kind of day I anticipate, revel in, and remember with a smile.

The alarm clock sings you to consciousness at 7:30 AM. You awaken alongside your mate with whom you have swapped turns spooning each other throughout the night. No time for lovemaking now, that will come later.

It is time to step into Lycra shorts, wiggle into a Jog-bra, then top it off with your favorite jersey (the one covered in parrots and bananas). It is time to make breakfast -- egg and potato burritos -- then toast some bread for pb&j sandwiches you’ll have for lunch later. You pack an additional PowerBar, and a baggy with your signature gorp that all the guys love. And don’t forget a navel orange right off the tree. There’s nothing like the sweet juice of a fresh-picked orange.

You, your husband, and a bunch of your favorite friends, pack your mountain bikes into and onto your respective vehicles, get in and head east for the mountains. It takes a while to climb up out of San Diego’s urban core, past El Cajon, past the Viejas Reservation Casino. Wow, they’ve really built it up from a tiny beginning into a regular Oz. They’ve even got an animated sign just like in Vegas. It’s about time the Native Americans were in command of their destinies. But why would anybody want to stay inside gambling on such a beautiful day as this?

Continuing to follow the yellow brick road, forty-five minutes after pulling out of the driveway, you have come to a place where humanity and its trappings no longer exist. Surrounding you are high-desert mountains dotted with boulders, sage, manzanita, scrub oak, and the world’s finest mountain-bike trails. In another fifteen minutes you are at the trailhead. Everybody pulls their bikes down off the car roof, out of the truck beds, and prepares for a day of riding. Nobody is wearing a watch. You’ll be riding until the ride is over; nobody wants to think about time.

“I’m the slowest, so I’ll get started,” you tell the group, pedaling away.

As you open your spirit to Mother Nature residing without and within you, to borrow another Beatles tune, all the other times you have been here flood back. It’s a cumulative “high.” The others soon catch up, out-pedal you and leave you behind. “Slow and steady wins the race,” you smile to yourself. And now is the time you have anticipated, your communion with Mother.

How can I describe it? It’s the place between space and time where your body realizes that you are not alone. There is the scent of sage permeating your being. You stop to pluck a piece, stuffing it in your Jog-bra and giving thanks to the Sage Goddess. You add a prayer, a mantra: “Love me, keep me safe, heal me.” And suddenly you are transported to that place where Love really is all there is.