Trekking: A Path Beyond the Body and Mind by Dr. Parth
Trekking: A Journey Beyond Body and Mind
Not a getaway. A gateway.
"When the ground beneath you disappears, the truth within you appears."
Trekking in the wild is not about climbing a few rocks or ticking off a trail on your bucket list. It is about entering a world where your logic, your comforts, and your controls begin to dissolve. And that’s the magic. Because when your logic fails, life begins.
In the city, in your home, you feel in control. Why? Because you've been there long enough. You’ve bonded with your chair, your cup, your bed, your view. They respond to you. They comfort you. They control you. But in the mountains, there is no such bond. No one to greet you. No familiar light switch to flick. And when the unknown stares back, it rattles the illusion of control you’ve built so carefully.
"You lose control — and gain clarity."
The moment you step out of that familiarity, anxiety can arise. Not because something wrong is happening — but because you don’t know what will happen. Expectations crumble. And suddenly, you are real again.
Now, imagine this happening at 84. When your body doesn’t respond like it used to. When memory becomes slippery. When even changing your room becomes a daunting shift. That resistance to change is not just about comfort — it’s a subtle fear. Because you are no longer in control, and you know it.
But if detachment happens consciously — through sadhana, through awareness — you are not threatened by the loss of control. You shed the body and mind like old garments. You forget to eat, not because you're confused, but because you’re fulfilled. You sit still for hours, not because you can’t move, but because movement is no longer a craving.
"Trekking is a spiritual path, if you are willing."
Even if you begin trekking for fun — for fresh air, for photos, for adventure — if you're just a little conscious, something deeper stirs within. You notice your breath, your pain, your thoughts… and the one who is witnessing all of it.
And suddenly, your inner being becomes cool, calm, but intensely alive. There is a stillness in the motion. There is silence in the struggle. And something within says, “This is me — without the noise.”
Out there, you cannot talk endlessly. You cannot snack every hour. You cannot indulge in useless thought — everything costs energy. So your system evolves. Energy is used wisely. The body becomes efficient. The mind becomes quiet. And the being begins to rise.
"Once a trekker, always a seeker."
This is not about the mountain. This is about what the mountain strips off you. When the terrain challenges your muscles, when the climb questions your identity — all that remains is you, raw and boundless.
That’s why true trekkers keep returning — not to the trail, but to that state of being. Because the adrenaline is not just in the legs — it’s in the soul stretching beyond limits.
So next time you walk into the wild…
Don’t just climb.
Transcend.
In A Nutshell
Trekking: A Path Beyond the Body and Mind
See, trekking in the mountains is not just about climbing a few rocks and posing for a photo on the peak. Trekking is not just a leisure activity or a physical exercise. If approached consciously, it is a doorway — a possibility — to go beyond the limitations of body and mind.
When you walk into the mountains, especially those wild ones where paths are not marked and no one tells you what to expect, slowly, your logic begins to fail. And that’s a good thing. Because logic is a tool to handle the known — the familiar. But life... life is not logical. It’s mysterious. It unfolds in ways you can never predict.
Even if you begin trekking just for fun, just to get some fresh air or escape the routine, if you are a little aware, you will see — suddenly, what is not you becomes very clear. Your legs hurt, your breath shortens, your stomach grumbles, your mind complains — but you are still there, watching all this. If you can stay conscious of that, suddenly, there is a deep stillness within. You are calm, you are cool — but intensely alive.
Out there, in the wilderness, your system learns a certain wisdom. It begins to utilize energy only where it's needed. You can't talk too much. You can’t snack every hour. You can't think unnecessarily — because all of that costs energy. So the body becomes precise. The mind becomes silent. What a wonderful way to transcend, isn’t it?
When you are in the city or your home, you feel in control. Why? Because you've been there long enough. You’ve created bonds — with objects, spaces, even smells and sounds. Your chair, your cup, your room — all these start responding to you in a certain way. This gives you the illusion of control. But it is just that — an illusion.
The moment you are taken out of this environment — especially into nature or unknown geography — that comfort is challenged. Anxiety arises not because something bad is happening, but because your familiar identity is being questioned. You realize: “I am not in control here.”
This becomes even more stark as one ages. Let’s say, you’re 84, and your body is no longer cooperating the way it used to. You’ve built years of memories, associations — and slowly, you begin to detach from them. Naturally, you seek stability. A known room, a known face, the same bed, the same view from the window. Anything outside of that becomes a threat — not because it is dangerous — but because it demands your body and mind to be active again. And somewhere deep down, you know, they don’t respond like they used to.
When detachment happens consciously, through spiritual sadhana, then you become free. You are not the body. You are not the mind. You can sit still for hours, days — you may even forget food or sleep. Not out of ignorance, but because your identification has shifted. The body becomes like a piece of clothing — it’s there, but you are not tangled in it.
But when the same detachment happens accidentally — maybe through shock, aging, or loss — it doesn’t bring freedom. It brings fear, confusion, and anxiety. You feel lost, because you never prepared for this transition.
This is why in this culture, we always said: walk the path consciously. Don’t wait for life to rip things away from you. Instead, drop them by your own will. Because only when you are free by choice, it becomes liberation. Otherwise, it becomes suffering.
A yogi may forget to eat, not because he is disoriented, but because he has tasted something far more fulfilling. A disoriented person forgets to eat because he is lost. Both look the same from the outside — but the source is entirely different.
This is where grace plays a crucial role. Without grace, you may climb mountains, but never rise above the body. With grace, even sitting still, you soar.
But this journey must be guided properly. Otherwise, you may use it to reinforce your limitations rather than dissolve them. A well-guided trek is not just a climb on a hill — it is a climb beyond yourself. If done right, it can raise your energies, your perception, your very experience of life. If done unconsciously, it may just tire your muscles and burden your joints.
You see, this is why once a person has truly tasted trekking — not just the scenery, but the inner stillness it can bring — they are never the same again. Once a trekker, always a trekker. It becomes a kind of high. Not from the altitude, but from the expansion of your boundaries.
So, don’t just seek comfort. Seek clarity. Don’t just chase control. Learn to surrender — not as weakness, but as the highest intelligence.
Because when the mountain strips you of all that you think you are, what remains is you — raw, real, boundless.
So, next time you step into the mountains, don’t just climb — transcend.
Comments
Post a Comment