So much of his life had become a gag. He would awake from one conscious to another to find himself in an odd situation. Groggily he would come back to embrace this, his life. What was he doing in the middle of the woods, where was he? And bit by bit the story would come together...
But the fool on the hillSees the sun going down,And the eyes in his head,See the world spinning 'round.
The eyes in my head are the cinema reel. We are making the director’s cut. The images flicker on my eyelids:
I see sunlight coming into my head
Opening my mind, raising the dead!
Watching the ghosts rise into the sky
Fear evaporates... Me oh my!
Look to my left, look to my right
Why was I ever so uptight?
Now! After the passing of the storm
The tribe of one gathers the corn...
The Eternal Harvest of Love is a wondrous discovery to make, especially after the passing of a storm; a ravenous heartache, which consumes the light in our world. We are oscillations, waves of light! And the storm itself is a beautiful gift too; the tidal pulse of the sky. We can’t have day without night. And everything is indeed in its right place. There is no need for hope:
I never thought it a shameful thing
To do as I’ve always done, hoping
Hoping for a gift, the sun to shine
Hoping for a loved one’s love to be mine
Hoping that I may feel all the charms
Of growing old in my loved one’s arms
But what if today is the day?
IT ALWAYS IS!
Now I fall forever into bliss...
Why are we scared of reality? The storm of our fellow wayfarers wages below. There’s a rush to cram the cash and save the sunlight for a rainy day. Perhaps the paper money can be piled up for whatever good that will do. But never should we lose what we can’t save. Living in the past, or future rather than the present seems to be such a foolhardy endeavor. Indeed, the present holds both the past and the future...
Q: What gives me the privilege of existence?
A: Giving back all of what you are.
Q: What’s on the other side of love?
A: Bliss.
Q: How many stories have yet to be grunted into word?
A: Infinite.
There’s a bunch of fools blathering around on top of this hill. We egg each other on in the candlelit post pre-Christmas party. We might all get locked away permanently in this crazy house too. And wow, that would be okay methinks. It may seem sad at first. Would it put us out of touch with the universe? No, only when we fall into ourselves can we achieve contact with the tribe of one. Only when I love myself can I love anyone else. Thus we hold infinite attachments to the Universe within ourselves.
These are some of my thoughts in this cloud of a cold, which has flogged my froggy throat since last week’s visit to the airport. Now it’s moving to my chest, and running is on hold. Whatever the tide takes out, it will bring back. Perhaps it won’t be what it was, but it will be what it is! Training is not a fickle business. It’s a ship at sea:
Our ships need to be at sea
True of you and true of me
We may come to dock for a while
And share the joy of each other’s smile
But it’s the wide unknown that awaits us all!
Come now; let us go heed the call...
This is the season when cross-country trekking beckons. The forest draws back her curtains revealing infinite possibilities for travel. It doesn’t require much of an imagination to plot a route along the spines and through the meaty coves. From an Appalachian ledge in wintertime, one can easily derive a lifetime of adventure.
Uwharrie and I began one this Saturday cutting through the Caesars Head community. We descended neatly along the remnants of an old wagon road leaving behind us the clutter of briars and blackberries marking the backyard succession boundary of these mountain mcmansions.
We made quick progress over a small summit, turning slightly north, we started down a broad and gentle ridge. The topo map told us true: soon the ridge steepened dropping us into a hidden forest of Carolina Hemlocks. Scrambling through a boulder keyhole, we found a spur ridge jutting southwards now through a field of dainty golden-green canes. We sat among them and listened to the noisy woodpeckers and squirrels below us in the adjoining coves.
It was time to get Uwharrie some water. We descended into the nearest cove. While she drank among the ice, I studied the remnants of an old road. We followed the creek toward its intersection with Matthews Creek. In this granite gorge, we leapt across the creek slipping on moss and ice. We traversed a precarious overhanging ledge equipped with four-foot icicles above and an icy pool below. This waterfall rivals nearby Moonshine Falls in beauty though very few know of it. Arriving at an interesting saddle in the sun, I learned that I was now without a map- it must’ve slipped out along the creek. Let the adventure begin!
On this trek, old logging roads are of little use, oftentimes going far out of the way. We descended to Matthews Creek. Here a ford through frigid water would’ve been necessary if not for a serendipitous log spanning the torrent. Once across, we climbed through laurel thickets to join up with a trail belonging to the Asbury Hills Methodist camp.
Shortly, we left the trail opting for a severe climb up the southeast flank of Raven Cliff Mountain. Resting on a boulder bench in the nook of a shoulder below the cliffs, silence and sunshine enveloped us. A squirrel sounds monstrous in the crunching auburn ocean of leaves, but when there is absolutely nothing rustling about, there is a deep sacred quiet... Breathe.
We scampered beneath the ramparts looking for a weakness. Sunlight reflected off the wall where ice melt trickled down over the moss. Finally we found a way and sat and rested atop the castle. Looking back however, we were not quite at the top. A long pull up and over the summit ridge took us through a boreal setting.
To our right, the north face yawned away into a cataclysm drooling with white ice fangs. Somewhere directly below us in this shadow world lay the “Cathedral.” This is an overhanging 200 ft. wall where ravens go to nest; it’s usually impressively encrusted in ice this time of year. To our left, the Greenville watershed in front a rearing Table Rock shimmered under a late-day sun.
Although miles and mile separated us, I felt the trek nearing its completion. We followed the rim of the gorge. After fording chilly Matthews Creek, we were back on the trails headed home. This was a good journey, perfect for kicking the remainder of this cold. All day it felt as though I was blowing my brain into the handkerchief. The thermos of Echinacea tea and the hard-boiled eggs were welcome sustenance along the way.
Oh yeah. I killed a television. It was not mine, I don’t own one. Don’t worry, I didn’t mean it and surely a thousand more were being born while this one died. It scared the heck out of me while it dove free from the cabinet, crashing to the floor as I walked by. Hardly anyone would believe me, but then again, hardly anyone knows how rough a night Tuesday night was... All the kings’ horses, and all the kings’ men, and the ice age cometh. Kill your TV. Don’t fear; you’ll find life outside...
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. -HDT
