King of Lookout Hill

In a wild part of the park there is a long staircase that winds back and forth through the woods, up a hill and down the other side. Many mornings I climb it for exercise. The experience is strenuous and peaceful. There are few others who bother with these dilapidated stairs, which gives the area a forgotten feeling.

As usual this morning I was lost in thought as I walked. Starting up the backside of the hill I noticed a man and his dog coming down the stairs. We met on a landing and nodded a greeting. Then he stopped and turned towards me.

“So, you know there’s a great bullmastiff that lives on this hill?”

It took me a minute to understand his meaning. “A wild dog?”

“Yeah, a brindle. He likes my dog, but he doesn’t like people…” Suddenly I grasped his words and my mind conjured an image of a snarling beast. I whipped around expecting to see it charging towards us. I braced myself.

“Oh, well maybe I shouldn’t go that way?” I half stated, half asked. So strong was my immediate fear that I actually started to walk the other way with the man, off the hill. He looked at me funny and then looked back up from the direction he’d come. There was no fear in his bearing. I realized he was sharing something with me not as a warning, but as a gift.

“He’s right up there in the woods. See if you can spot him. He’s really beautiful. I hope they never find him.”

The man and his dog walked on, leaving me alone on the step. The knowledge that a great wild dog was ahead struck such fear and awe into me. My footsteps felt altogether different as I resumed my walk. Suddenly the woods were alive. The hill felt powerful. The difference between what I was feeling now versus a minute earlier when the hill had simply been background to my mental chatter and imagination was marked.

How easily we are lulled to sleep by routine, I thought. How much of the day we spend in our heads, our bodies going through the motions. Day-to-day I don’t give the hill much thought. It serves a purpose for me and not much more than that. In my mind, the hill exists to provide me with exercise. And while I appreciate the existence of the hill, I don’t give it a “life” beyond that limited role (how many people in my life have I treated the same way?).

I also felt how quickly reactions happen. I was surprised by how readily my imagination conjured fear. Like the Buddhist parable about mistaking a coiled rope in the dark for a venomous snake, I’d made an invisible dog, just the mere suggestion of a dog, a certain attacker. My mind sealed my fate before I’d even seen the animal.

A few steps later, scanning the woods, I saw the dog sitting absolutely still, his back to me. He was huge perched there on the hillside staring into the sun. It was his head I noticed first, massive and black, outlined by the rays of light. I was electrified. The dog’s presence made me feel like I was traversing a temple to the sun. He seemed to be guarding a secret, restoring dignity to the place, a reminder of the power of nature, a symbol of freedom. It was so unlikely to see him here in the middle of a city park and yet there he sat conveying so much intensity.

As I stood there, he turned slowly and looked over his shoulder at me. I knew there was no threat because he remained seated, never moving his body. He just looked. The man was right…he was beautiful and seemed to belong there. Impassive. Noble. Rather than fear, I felt I was intruding. I hustled on.

Nearing the road, I felt a need to see him again, to verify his existence. I turned around and went back, but he was gone. I was left with the memory and still-fresh sensations of his presence. Like the man I’d met on the stairs, I also hoped they’d never find him.