| In the mountains, yesterday, past those places washed out the last time I came: an owl at noon – or maybe not an owl – the tapping of two trees, the silence, then again, the black shape half-hidden behind a tall trunk. And, of course, the bear. Standing at the top of a waterfall squeezed between boulders, water tumbling, shooting, the pulsing rhythm, the deep slow beat under the action – isn’t this enough? The red coastal cliffs of southeastern Australia, a flock of pink birds against a slate sky? Yes, I hold these memories precious, but this waterfall, this mountain, these are enough. |  |
The meeting of two creeks, one shallow with a floor of bronze stones joining another of deep blue; the small lake behind layered trees and branches into which one could easily fall, and not come back again. All this, to arrive back at the salt water, turquoise and purple.
And if I were to tell you about the boulders - some we needed to drive around bigger than the car, or a hillside of perfectly round stones covered with ancient moss. If I told you about all this, I would come back to you in wonder to say, “The waterfall plunging down the mountain, or the next one, pressed between stones, or… When these are enough to make me weep, I don’t need to return to the hidden pyramids in the forests of Mexico, or float the orchid strewn canal all the way to the cobalt sea.”
The eagle. I am remembering a day decades and decades ago when I had an experience opposite to today's. It was the day I learned my spirit was in deep crisis, and it was eagle who brought the message. She was fishing in a small lake that was surrounded by mountains and lava fields. Beautiful, right? But, I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was this that shocked me awake. I was frightened and horrified by my own deadness.
This began several years of long unwinding, until what remained of my life seemed more like scorched earth than beginning. It was the eagle who saved me, who brought my dying to my attention.
So, it was good to see her yesterday, too, finishing off the day. I felt her presence, as she circled the sky, and then flew back into the mountains. I felt the presence of the bear, the grove of old cedar, the trees with lavender bark. For this I am deeply grateful.
Grateful for the soaring of my spirit, for awe and ecstasy so rich, I cannot contain it except in my tears.
And if I were to tell you about the boulders - some we needed to drive around bigger than the car, or a hillside of perfectly round stones covered with ancient moss. If I told you about all this, I would come back to you in wonder to say, “The waterfall plunging down the mountain, or the next one, pressed between stones, or… When these are enough to make me weep, I don’t need to return to the hidden pyramids in the forests of Mexico, or float the orchid strewn canal all the way to the cobalt sea.”
The eagle. I am remembering a day decades and decades ago when I had an experience opposite to today's. It was the day I learned my spirit was in deep crisis, and it was eagle who brought the message. She was fishing in a small lake that was surrounded by mountains and lava fields. Beautiful, right? But, I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was this that shocked me awake. I was frightened and horrified by my own deadness.
This began several years of long unwinding, until what remained of my life seemed more like scorched earth than beginning. It was the eagle who saved me, who brought my dying to my attention.
So, it was good to see her yesterday, too, finishing off the day. I felt her presence, as she circled the sky, and then flew back into the mountains. I felt the presence of the bear, the grove of old cedar, the trees with lavender bark. For this I am deeply grateful.
Grateful for the soaring of my spirit, for awe and ecstasy so rich, I cannot contain it except in my tears.
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