When we think of mindfulness, we usually imagine a person sitting cross-legged on the ground, hands cupped, eyes closed in deep concentration. But what if there were other, more active ways to achieve it? A few years ago, while trekking in the Himalayas, I had an unlikely encounter with mindfulness, in a most unexpected setting.

I, along with my group, had ascended the Buran mountain pass, at an altitude of 15,000 feet. The high of scaling the pass was short-lived when we saw the route we would need to take for the descent. It was a snow-covered path, with just enough width to accommodate one human. A towering mountain hugged it on one side. On the other side was a near-vertical drop of several thousand feet – a blanket of snow waiting to wrap around any hapless soul unlucky enough to fall below. Stunned, I gulped at the sight as I began my descent.

Perfect awareness often eludes us. But here, confronted by mortality, mindfulness became my default state of mind. Gone were the intrusive thoughts I had just a minute ago. Only the next step mattered. I was intensely aware of my surroundings and my body. The rhythmic heaving of my chest with every breath, the firm grip of my hands on my trekking pole, the ripple of my leg muscles on every step, the feel of the snow beneath my feet – I could sense it all. It felt as if I had been endowed with a superpower!

The path that had felt so narrow now felt just a little bit wider. Inhale, scout the surroundings, probe the ground in front with the trekking pole, take the next step and repeat. This became my rhythm. With no voices in my head, I felt a clarity that I wasn’t used to. All my senses were engaged. The white and grey mountains surrounding me had never looked so majestic. The mountain air had never felt so crisp. The whisper of the breeze had never felt so soothing. The Himalayan spring water had never tasted so sweet. Every step I took made me feel connected with the ground in a way I had not felt before. I was one with the mountains!

After two hours, we had completed the tricky descent and reached a well-marked path. Although relieved, I also felt a tinge of sadness, for I knew the superpower that had taken hold of me would now ebb. It had been the most alive two hours of my life. I turned around to look at the descent. The sight would be permanently etched in my mind. My thoughts, which had been so clear during the descent, now raced, buzzing with the possibility of harnessing the mindfulness state in other pursuits.

Five years on, as I look back on the descent, I can still recall every detail vividly, as if it happened yesterday. One of my favorite authors, Jim Corbett, was once asked how he was able to recall his famous hunts without having the aid of a diary. To this, he replied, “If one uses one’s senses as they were intended to be used, there is no need to make notes, for everything one sees or hears is photographed on one’s memory, and is there for all time.” Having read his books since I was a little kid, I’m happy I can finally relate to this thought!

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