The lights of the inn are glowing in solitude. Outside the
light the night is pitch-dark. The silhouette of the mountain has completely merged into the darkness, but its massive presence still looms, surrounding and pushing against us. One gets a warm yet smothered feeling, like being hugged by an adult in one’s childhood. When all my fellow hikers have finally gathered, somebody shouts,
  “Let’s go to the waterfall!”
  We then step into the night in twos and threes. The color of the sky shows no sign of daybreak; the night is definitely not over yet. Since we cannot see any starlight, there is probably some light cloud above. We struggle to make out the sinuous mountain road, even though it has been developed into a thoroughfare open to motor vehicles. Probably feeling uneasy about the isolation brought by the darkness, people in the group start to engage in small talk with each other. We are like a fleet of vessels navigating the ocean in the night, flashing signal lights back and forth to confirm each other’s existence. I put my hands in the jacket pockets and stride ahead quietly, letting my hair and face feel the early-autumn coolness of the mountain in this summer night. Silence like this is rather an enjoyment, considering the tumultuous and noisy life we experience everyday.
  “Somebody keeps a bunch of dogs around the corner ahead. I don’t want to be the one walking in the front!” says the female student who has volunteered to be our guide. I quicken my steps spontaneously and take the forefront position before knowing it. A barrage of barking is followed by a couple of dogs dashing out of a hillside hut which looks like a work-shed. After they make their rounds of barking and sniffing at us, we finally regain the tranquility of the dark night. Perhaps delayed by fear of the dogs or immersed too much in conversations, my hikingmates seem to lag further and further behind and the murmur of their voices eventually fades away. I continue walking ahead in silence, feeling the whole mountain and the entire night sweeping through my existence, and gradually brushing by like a gentle breeze. Can this be considered some kind of “mountain bathing” or “night bathing”? I do seem to feel cleansed and renewed. After the mind quiets down, except for the rhythm of the strides, my whole being seems to also enter a vacant mental state, utterly devoid of any thought. Is this the reason why Buddhist monks include “walking thousands of miles” in their practice to achieve enlightenment?
  The sky gradually turns white. In the shrouding mist, the shapes of the mountains and the edges of the trees slowly appear like sculptural relief, jutting out from all sides. They seem intangible, yet the protrusions look very distinct and clear, containing intricate details within the integral whole. We seem to be climbing up and down in a multi-story grand palace with rich carvings and decorations everywhere. One building stands behind another, and they are all interconnected by corridors. The undulating mountain ridge has no end, and interlocking bushes and trees stretch on and on. Yet, as the road goes further and further down, there seems to be an exit at the bend. I find myself unexpectedly facing a bluish open sky. The long stretching road leads us out of the encircling mountain range and into a long and narrow valley. Although still nestling in the hills, it provides the luxury of some openness, almost like walking into a backyard garden amidst the palaces. Yet, it is not really a garden but a piece of desolate grassland interspersed with occasional small trees. Looking towards the valley, I stand still waiting for my fellow hikers, left far behind. Do I feel lonely? No! The light-colored sky covering the valley like a goose-down duvet also covers me.
  As the mountain road winds down to the valley, it makes a turn and intersects with another road. A sign is placed at one end of the crossroads pointing in the direction of the waterfall. Yet oddly enough, across from the sign, beside the lonely stretching road in the quiet wilderness, there is a vending machine with a supply of drinks standing alone like a quiet caretaker guarding the valley—a caretaker with a spirit of development and commercialism, perhaps? Should I admire this vending machine on the mountain as Wallace Stevens has done with the jar he placed on a hill in Tennessee, imagining how the wilderness rose up and sprawled around in total submission before it? Against the dim light of the dawn, the multi-colored sign and bulbs are still lit. It stands upright like a slot machine, ready to serve customers like a modern 24-hour convenience store, . . . .