No friends on a powder day
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Remembering Jamie Pierre
For Jamie Pierre, it’s not about 15 minutes of fame. It’s about three seconds of peace.
Everybody knows the moment.
That point at which time fades away and you find the space between your thoughts, and everything feels perfect because everything becomes nothing.Zen Buddhists find the moment by sitting cross-legged for hours, practicing not-thinking. Cyclists spin circles. Surfers find the balance point. You do it your own way—maybe jog or do yoga or catch the early tram for first tracks.
……………………….
So it’s winter again, and you’re Jamie Pierre, taking in the view, anticipating the moment.
You’re on top of a cliff, maybe in Little Cottonwood or Andermatt, or if the stars are aligned and the snowpack is just right, you’re staring down that 240-footer in Wyoming. A dozen people are there—magazine photographers, a film crew, some locals. Maybe your wife, if she can stand to watch. It’s a long drop all right, but you tune everything out, visualize the landing, say a Hail Mary, and point ‘em. Your skis run nicely. You gain speed. The edge draws nearer. Everything comes into focus in a way you can’t attain through church or family or drink or smoke or love. Your tips go over, then your tails—and you’re airborne. Whoosh.In three seconds, maybe four, you’ll hit the ground. Live or die. Find the wire or trip over it. But right now, none of that matters.
Right now, you’re in the moment.
RIP
