ABOVE THE RAIN AND FOG THE SUN SHINES... or HOW CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN CHANGED MY POINT-OF-VIEW

Early on in my studies with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, I was attending a course in Interlaken, Switzerland. It was, like most of Maharishi’s venues, quite magical—at least when the sun was out. Perhaps the rarity of the sun’s visits just added to the magic. The town of Interlaken—between the lakes—is in a valley set in the middle of some of the most spectacular scenery in the Swiss Alps. The course was being held in the fall, not the greatest weather to be living in a valley of lakes where wet and foggy is pretty much the usual.

When the sun was shining and the sky was clear, the view off the balcony outside my room was of the Jungfrau, the Eiger and the Monch, three of the great climbing mountains in Switzerland—the Eiger’s North Face infamous as one of the most dangerous sheer walls in the Alps. The Jungfrau alone, in its snow-covered glory, was such a beautiful and inspiring view that I never tired of watching it throughout the day as the angle of the sun changed. What amazed me is how much the mountain’s character was transformed depending on the time of day and the weather—and how quickly the changes occurred.

It was part of our course ritual to take a walk after lunch. My daily walk usually took me along the shore of one of the lakes. But, one rainy, foggy afternoon I headed in a different direction. Suffering from too much fog and rain, I headed instead into the forest which began directly behind our hotel, the Victoria-Jungfrau. Heading out, oddly enough, I remember passing an antique black Chrysler limousine—circa 1950’s—which rested serenely amongst some other discarded five-star hotel remnants. I found a path heading up the side of the mountain looming ominously above the hotel and Interlaken.

At the mountain’s foot, the path traversed the face sideways before turning rather abruptly up the center in a series of quick back and forth switchbacks. I should say here, that even the thought of climbing a mountain, even one on which a trail was provided, was far "off the program" I was on. Given that I was attending a course on meditation, the primary objective being to allow the body to rest and ultimately to reach a place where its metabolic rate fell to almost nothing, climbing a mountain was not highly recommended. Probably, it was the sheer dreariness of a string of days which inspired me to go up rather than sideways, although I had no vision of what I was going to find.

The mountain, appropriately called the Harder Kulm, turned out to be more of climb than I’d bargained for. It may have been the weeks of resting my body that contributed to the difficulty I encountered in climbing. On the course, our only daily exercise beside our short walks were endless sets of yoga asanas. But "exhausted" is what I felt after an hour or so of heading fairly straight up. The path actually would have been a technical climb were it not for the polite Swiss habit of securing metal ladders into rock walls wherever needed. After about two hours of climbing, I remember wishing I hadn’t begun at all. But it must be the mountain goat in me that prevents me from stopping once I’ve begun. I always feel that very human need to get to the top.

But the reason for all the effort I was expending soon revealed itself. I remember it happening all at once—as a single moment in time. It was at a place where the trail had flattened out again into more switchbacks; where it had become a narrow strip cut into the side of the mountain. Suddenly, the trail turned a corner and there it was…there I was, above the clouds, above the fog—the sun shining bright. The view took my breath away! I remember how surprised I was…that I was seeing the sun that day.

There was still a ways to go to reach the top of the mountain…but I had lost my normal obsession to get there. I sat on the side of the trail, leaned back against the mountain, and thanked it for just being there!

Even though I’d begun my journey with no intention of seeing the sun, I’d found it in all its glory. The long climb became insignificant. The change in my view-point was all that mattered.