THE TRIQUETRA OF LIFE: Wisdom, Wealth, and Wellness

Path Perilous:My Search for God and the Miraculous

A Chapter Eight Excerpt

A True Story of Pedestals among the Pines

“What I found on Mt.Hood wasn’t just ruins, but the rock of ages—and my first brush with eternity. At eight years old, among broken pedestals and shaded trails, I sensed that life’s story stretched far beyond my own. This memory became one of the first steps in my journey told in Path Perilous.”

After finishing chores one day, I set off eastward from our new house, next to the hill top’s first tee that would turn into a ski slope in winter, the crisp mountain air nipping at my cheeks. The asphalt service road stretched ahead, cutting a swath through the hillside. The slope was steep, bordered by boulders on the south side, their surfaces worn smooth from years of weathering. Overhead, oak trees arched their gnarled branches, casting cool shade across the hot sun. Ahead, the road tapered into a dead-end at the Melrose Fish and Game Club. I could hear the leaves rustling and the crunch of my boots against the gravel edging the blacktop, as if the road itself were holding its breath, waiting for me.

A strange feeling came over me when I spotted a cluster of concrete pedestals tucked among the trees. They stood like forgotten guards, chipped and cracked, weathered by years of neglect. My mind, always reaching for the ancient and mysterious, began to wonder. Maybe they once held up statues of strange idols—lost in time, their purpose long forgotten. I felt as if ghosts hovered just beyond reach. The gravel underfoot gave way to a path lined with elderberry shrubs and scrub pine. A hidden trail seemed to beckon me into the thick woods, as if whispering: come, wander here, discover a world left behind.

Those crumbling remnants, those long-forgotten ruins, felt charged—as if the pedestals and stones had soaked up the life of another age and kept it, like magnets buried deep in the Rock of Ages. It made me feel like a brief twinkle in the Milky Way. For the first time it hit me: the world had gone on long before I was here, and would keep going long after I was gone. The thought of death didn’t frighten me—it only made me get strangely quiet, and in that stillness I sensed, dimly, that the story of life was much bigger than me.

As my thoughts drifted to the skiers who must have once gathered here, I imagined the thrilling instant before leaping from a steep slope into the air. I could almost feel the rush—the whoosh of snow, the sudden blast of cold wind, the sheer joy of soaring flight… if only for a moment… the sensation of being carried heaven-bound by a leap of faith.

This was the first time I sensed how fragile and fleeting my life—and how much bigger the story must be.

From the memoir-in-progress, nearing publication:
Path Perilous: My Search for God and the Miraculous
—a spiritual epic for truth-seekers, contemplative mystics, and all who long for God.