The following posts were composed at a remote hut in the snow-saturated San Juan mountains on a group trip, late February 2019.This is part two of two. And the first set in a continuing theme of “processing” pieces written while immersed in the self-renewing wilderness systems of precious Colorado.
Each one of us shines so brightly,
like Indra’s net.
Like the thick dank blanket of constellations of little snow stars, each one so different, so beautiful, so conditional. So fleeting, so precious.
Being here can teach me something about my ancestors. About their understanding that winters were necessary for the warmth of life to be received again, in its time. The profound climate & appreciation of deep snow. So deep, so thick, the eye winces with difficulty to see all the shining. Yet the top layer glimmers so fine in the cresting sun… like jewels spinning spiraling spotlights in all directions, prismatic–testifying to how water glorifies life.
We are at the top of existence.
All these feet of snow in the Rockies
shall flow downward and feed the nation their drink.
Yes, this is all real, and all of what is relies on these relationships. Through time, across space. Through forms. Same base. Life.
I suppose this is me, as an edgewalker.
Welcoming the going to the edge.
Arriving at the edge.
Absorbing the energies here.
Profoundly still, silent but for the melt drops plunking on the tin propane tank cover.
Bright hot sun beaming, extreme.
The fast-melting snowstars shimmering across the untouched field like a prismatic sheet, clumpy, sticky snow clings to tree branches as it can, growing heavier with every moment.
The mountains stare, agape at their vast vista, incomprehensible,
older than (any knowing of time)
Yet a plane flies low (to us) overhead.
Its jet engine screams machine murder across the sky, its sound pummeling us.
Humankind’s conquest stalks and wicks our experience, even far out here.
There is no bubble here.
There is adapting to one’s environment–and vice versa–going on.
An intimate, absorbed love affair. Self-organizing.
No possibility of being distracted from your subjective, subordinated nature.
To sit like a mountain.
To mirror our majestic natural environments.
There is nothing more to do & be complete.
& get right.
& get on.
There is no bubble here.
Though I do not come outdoors for the hope of a bubble, to insulate me via beauty or remoteness, from ordinary life in the city.
There is outrageous living here, the living process is pronounced to the senses!
I come for the intensity. For the bold communion. For the intrinsic intelligence (beauty) of a realm where beings interact vigorously and continuously, emerging ever-higher orderliness…
this process that we have generally paved over and noised over in human-claimed spaces.
I come out here to experience, to acknowledge my oneness with creation’s edge. To let the disorder internalized from the ignorance-rooted human realm (the stress in my body) melt into the Earth, and to participate in allowing new order to emerge from the cleansing, sifting process, actuated by my discomfort and endurance.
I do not come here for a bubble. I come here for a restoring process, that is always there, with which I am always engaged, though it may seem obscured at times.
I come here to bow to the non-bubbleness, the universality of these natures. I come here to acknowledge our oneness with our liberation. I come here to be challenged, knowing my struggles shall melt into bliss like the water trickling off from the snow. I come to melt my resistances. I come here to soak in wildness, so I may return with it, effusing from my flesh.