The Snow Leopard

When you haven’t talked in a while, there is somehow less to say than when you talk every day.

“It’s too cold and icy and the snow is too bright, so I came back.” I said this to Rachel after attempting to walk to Roland’s on my lunch break.

I tell you this and what do you care? But then you don’t see me every day.

It’s been a while, which is my fault. I hope you’re doing well.

So much has happened. I guess I told you about that bath I took last week, so you’re up to speed on that. Did I also mention I went down to Ocracoke a week or two ago? Probably not.

Almost everything was closed except the grocery store and, oddly enough, the bookstore. (A few more things too, but saying it was just the bookstore is fun).

Rachel bought a copy of War and Peace. I’m not sure she’s loving it. I spotted it this morning lying abandoned next to a frozen lake of soda in our minivan.

I bought a star map and The Snow Leopard.

The map is maybe for people more scientifically inclined than me, though I like what it says about me (that I’m the type of guy who would buy a star map.) But I can’t work it. You have to rotate it for whatever direction you are facing and then, um… yada yada yada… why am I trying to explain something I haven’t figured out? And not for lack of trying. Though when I hand it to other people, they confidently tell me things like: “That’s Orion. He’s always in the East (one person)” or “That’s Orion. He’s always in the South (another).” Although it’s possible I’m misremembering one or both of them.

Though, I don’t think so.

I have been learning my stars though, despite my failure with the map.

It’s way more my speed to learn about stars from actual people standing next to me who point their finger and grab my arm to redirect my finger and say things like “That’s Cassiopea. She’s always there for you!”

Purchasing The Snow Leopard was similiarly born from the old man aspiration to notice. The older I get, the less I care about whether I should wear skinny jeans or wide jeans (I think it’s the second one, currently), and the more I want to know basic things like “what’s that over there?”

But I’m a procrastinator and a lazy student of things that aren’t ideas. For instance, there are tons of these brownish-red birds flitting about in my yard, pretty much every day. So, yesterday, I finally got out my phone and asked it, “What birds near me are brown and then have brownish-red bellies?” and it popped up a bunch of pictures of birds.

Unfortunately, I forgot the implications of having set my phone screen to black and white: I can’t tell what virtual bird I’m looking at. (This is also true of real birds, though at least I can tell what color they are.)

Anyway, The Snow Leopard. It’s a travel book. One of the best I’ve ever read. The writing is crisp and clean and beautiful.

It’s the early 70s. The author travels for two months through Tibet and Nepal to meditate at the Crystal Mountain, a secluded monastery.

Along the way, he hopes he’ll see a snow leopard. Snow leopard sitings are incredibly rare. So rare, they can make headlines, even international headlines.

Before he sets out, his spiritual advisor had given him a Zen koan to ponder, “All these mountain tops are covered with snow, but mine is not. Why is that?” and told him of his meditative aspirations, “don’t expect anything.”

Despite this advice, the author has a peak moment or two meditating, then he walks back, disappointed he is unable to hold onto whatever it was he experienced, and even more disappointed in himself for failing not to expect anything.

Maybe he sees the snow leopard, maybe he doesn’t. I’m not gonna tell you. But let’s assume he doesn’t.

I read a big chunk of this camping.

When I woke the first morning - speak of the devil - it surprised everybody by snowing heavily in the night. Inspired by the Sherpas, some of whom walk all day in the mountains without shoes, I went outside barefoot - and stayed there - occasionally warming my feet by a fire I started in the firepit, much to the concern of my fellow campers.

What are feet for, if you can’t even get them cold? I was fine. It felt good.

I feel like there is something more I got from the book than just show-offy bare feet, but like the author, whatever it is I experienced in my reading of his experience of the Crystal Mountain, I didn’t manage to hold on to, not in a way I can express. I was so excited to try, to write this, but now — nothing.

I came home, I finished the book, got that nice I-just-finished-a-book feeling, and went to sleep.

In the morning, I checked my phone, doom scrolled briefly, and then I saw it —

“Skier mauled by wild snow leopard & left with blood pouring from her face after moving closer to take photo”