Sometimes I lay
under the moon
and thank God I'm breathing
then I pray
don't take me soon
cause i'm here for a reason
-Matisyahu, One DayRadio Silence. Hectic, absurd radio silence.
At one point a few years ago, there was a huge urge to write. To explicate. A force to share whatever those thoughts were with whatever silent dark entity swirls about in the dark bits of internet anonymity. It was inspired, I won't lie. And any one who reads it knows it. It was out there. But it hasn't for a while. And subsequently, neither have I. Connections are drawn in this obscure web of computers, just like life. Twitch of the mouse, twitch of the eye, and here you have an intimate glimpse of life, not just life - Someone's Life- on another side, At one point, they were one in the same for me. Inspiration flowed, and so did I, with manufactured ideas pouring forth in some attempt to live live vicariously through myself. But It was cut off as all streams are. Eventuality rolls along swallowing all in its path.
Including me, life takes it away, drives out the very soul of the soul if you will. 30 days were spent, more than thirty days ago, in a place far away, and not at all like this, and in that state, life was reduced. There was nothing but the soul. It was pure. It was beautiful. And in that, flowed a lot of writing. Not inspired, not manufactured, only held, with will of the heart in that moment. Past is past, and stories can be told, but here we are. What the FUCK are you doing? I am writing. Its something that I suppose has been welling up for a time. But I find myself upon a section of cross-roads here. which one to take.
The calm silence of the morning splinters to pieces as the crushed can of Keystone Light flies across the room accompanied by a sharp expletive as I reach down to investigate my big toe for signs of damage from the offending bit of scrapped aluminum. Pain is a jolt, a sudden reprieve from the general fog that settled upon my brain sometime in hours since sleep first took hold the night previous. But the pain pales in comparison to the boredom that accompanies a day's worth of class. It is a common, if not desirable manner in which a good number of my days, and perhaps the start to career in the realm of higher education, begin, but it has been, for lack of a better word, inauspicious. The lifestyle itself is not entirely inglorious, for as many weeks as I have taken up residence, the sun shines beautifully across campus each day as the mornings warm into afternoons which stretch, just like the shadows, into long lazy evenings. The people who have made the same decision as myself to call this place home are far from disagreeable. It is no tale of fiction to say that I find the company of the other students enjoyable, especially as their interests coincide similarly with mine. What then, causes my hesitation at dealing praise of my present location?
A morning earlier, my eyes opened in instinct. A full number of REM cycles complete, my circadian rhythms brought about crystal clear consciousness and a particular alertness that comes only from a good night's sleep. The sun was not yet over the Bangtail mountains to the east, and a fine dew weighed on blades of grass bending them in two and giving the air a clean scent. The wheels begin to roll. Fast over the tacky brown earth, breath comes short and quick as the slope of the trail tilts upward and the air thins, scrub oak, juniper, ponderosa, and lodgepole pines give way to engleman spruce and douglas fir. Still higher, the trees fade to krumholtz, ancient twisted silhouettes of sub alpine fir, clinging to the very highest of the forest's reaches, tormented by the elements, and rarely exceeding six feet in height, these trees are on the front lines with the harshest of nature's blows. They huddle at the edge of high alpine tundra, bunched together like soldiers braced against the weather. The land assumes a barren quality at this elevation, but the starkness is only superficial. Close to the ground grow a hearty community of flora. Among the grass are tightly woven beds of daisy, clover, monkshood, bluebell, fleabane and lupine. At this altitude, the hillsides give way to sharp mountain peaks: vicious points of granite talus rise in cliffed leaps above expansive meadows, and the brutality of mother nature ensures humans in this kingdom are only visitors. The trail has long since disappeared, and my bicycle has found its way onto my shoulder as we stumble together across scree fields as my heart beats near threshold, strained by the effort and the lack of oxygen.
This is my territory. This is my life. Having grown up in the Rocky Mountains, I have had, for as long as I can remeber, a love affair with the alpine peaks that rise above the horizon. It came as a line from my parents, both of whom spent many years of their lives sleeping under the stars, and hooked me from a young age: I feel more at home on the ridge tops of remote mountain ranges than I ever have in houses, and I sleep better under a nylon tarp, wrapped in a down sleeping bag, than I ever will in a stuffy room with claustrophobia inducing walls, and perhaps most importantly of all, this is where I learn. My quest for knowledge provided by the stereotypical teachers of public schools ends when education extends beyond analytical thought processes. The value of knowledge, at a personal level, rests on my ability to live.
That is the first page of an essay that I recently wrote. I feel lucky, as I had the time to put thought, and more importantly feeling, into it. Here is the cross-road. One path, I am clearly on. One, I seek as much as possible, but it is not 'my' path, it is merely one that I have found myself on. Where is the turn off. The more I think about this, the less I want to live this life. Yes, I would likely be very content to graduate and work in a nice town, living in a nice house. But that is not the house I want.
Ivan Doing calls it the House of Sky. The place where the only walls are trees, and the only roof is the blanket of stars shining in the night. The place where the pedals turn, the feet pound. The heart
Beats . Yes, that is truly the place to live.
Life draws on everyday, but in words, I am here for a reason. I might just need some help figuring out what that is. I feel low sometimes... helpless, alone. But the man says it better than I:
I never let it get me down
so when negativity surrounds
I know some day it'll all turn aroundIt CAN get much worse, and especially for me, it resonates that people have been through much more with less. All around, are reasons to fight the good fight, live the good life. A close friend, has been for some time, is hurting bad, bad enough to make you stop, bad enough to make you hurt. Its a deep blow in the pit of your stomach. But they are looking up, climbing back. Fighting. Another close friend, is not really hurting at all, but as a result of conditions that are uncomfortable at lowest, but mostly attitude, they are hurting too. Its a different reaction to witness, it is Succumbing. It is no worse to have to watch either, and I want to give each all the positivity I can. But which one will respond, which one will take the positive and propel forward.
Thats all I can think of to do right now. Spread love and passion and life and caring. As much as I have. Its all going out there. I hope that this is the hope that leads me in the right direction. I hope this compass sets me on the right path.
Take care world
