There is a kind of magic in those remote peaks. Surrounded by emerald forests and streams fed by ancient glaciers,
nature becomes an amplifier for every feeling. Below you, melting glaciers feed crystal-clear streams – many call glacial ice among the purest natural waters.
As you look out, the world seems to shrink: towers of pine that once loomed high now huddle like tiny ants in the mist. Clouds form almost miraculously at your feet, as moist air rising up the mountain cools and condenses into fog and rain.
In that moment the aura is otherworldly.
As John Muir observed, “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.”
The air is sharp and cold, the sky infinitely high, and for once you feel bot h enormously small and alive to everything around you.
But there is a warning written in the stillness: whatever you carry in your heart will echo back at you.
In complete silence, with nothing but sky and stone around you, old worries no longer have distractions; they grow louder.
If you brought a heavy heart or unspoken regrets, those ghosts follow you like shadows on the trail.
In such pure solitude your remorse is undiluted. Instead of finding comfort, many discover that negative thoughts only become more vivid when there is nothing to buffer them.
As the mountains stretch and your gaze deepens into valleys, there is nowhere left to hide.
(This is why wise travelers say not to seek the hills as a cure for a troubled mind.)
Without the usual noise and routine, your inner doubts stand on full display, reminding you how small your problems are in the vast world – a humbling thought, but not always a comforting one.
On the other hand, if you climb the trail with an open heart and peace in your mind, the mountains feel like a kind of heaven.
They seem to reward every gentle thought. The sun warms the rocks, the breeze carries only good tidings, and even the silence feels full of possibility.
As Ralph Waldo Emerson urged, “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air’s salubrity.”
In these heights, you literally drink cold mountain air that tastes like freedom.
Each step feels lighter than the last, and even exhaustion is sweet.
You find that quiet peace grows inside you until it spills into every waking moment, like dawn light spilling over the peaks.
When it’s time to descend, people often ask, “Did you have fun?”
I realized fun up there wasn’t about laughter or music or crowds.
It was about something deeper.
As Muir said, “Only by going alone in silence, without baggage, can one truly get into the heart of the wilderness.”
Out there, the loudest sound is your own heartbeat – and for once, you listen.
I learned that sometimes the most joyous moments come in total stillness.
Coming home, I felt oddly lighter, as if each mountain breeze had carried away a worry.
My greatest takeaway from those seven days was simple and quiet:
love isn’t always the excitement we imagine; sometimes it’s the tender silence between two soul-deep breaths, the trust in stillness.
“Oh, how this world has created such a misconception of love.”
— Rohan Ghalib