Up and Down the Mountain

I must walk my given path because around any particular corner comes a thought, a spoken pain, a brave direction. I take little steps because I no longer have to hurry. I can pause and linger. I empty out. I am filled. New stories are fed to me.

I have no home but the moment I’m in. Each step is freer, less anxious about where it is going. Rather than climb the mountain, I am rappelling now, pausing to enjoy the colors and niches I created on my way up, toiling and sweating to get there.  And the Up was worth the climb, the solitary stroke of the pickaxe that brought me to the heights of so many heavens. I went my own way out of curiosity, out of love, out of selfishness, out of guidance and adventure.  I went as a learner, an observer, a hero, a child, a rebel, a bird, an acrobat, a lover, a friend. Whatever I was and whichever way I went, I made it funny, clever and breezy, sometimes with so light a touch so as to ensure I would not find my way back along the same route.

But as is the experience of all sojourners, I met my causes and characters along the way. I stumbled into  the caves of being and becoming where I took shelter, needing the darkness to transform me into light.  So dear to me now, these painful deaths of illusion. I light a candle, rub a shell, turn the beads and kiss the small pieces of wood on the altars of remembrance. I love them even more since I understand that they were sent to pierce me, to detain me, to reveal me. 

This mountain, once so solid and imposing, slides into a gentle sleep, dreaming of the universe it contains, its cosmic application. This mountain, that grew from an architect’s karmic design, exhales a great, warming, welcoming breath, becoming soft and malleable, collapsing itself into a valley, a meadow where sheep run alongside of me into a field of deep clover. I lay there smiling at the Sun, pondering with the Moon, reflecting on the journey thru time space I have made…. I will make…. I am making. 

Best Wishes, Whisel*