"there's a lot going on in life. that's why they aren't rocks." - Ginni
i love to walk in the woods. in the daylight, like many, i enjoy the control and empowerment that comes with scaling a rock that doesn't give a damn if you're on it.
i put myself here.
i made it to the top.
i behold the view.
i know where i am.
and so, here i am.
but when the sun fades from the trails the experience changes. night hiking requires a level of awareness and trust that can be difficult to give in to (which is my personal opinion of why it is so sadly avoided.) cole's scolding of not wearing a headlamp makes logical sense if you're trying to get from point A to point B without falling... but sometimes it's not about being logical. sometimes it's about practicing how to walk with openness; knowing you may fall but exploring anyways.
a week or so ago i was enveloped by the cold, foggy darkness. a storm was arriving, with mellow lightening, thunder, rain. the trail i've come to know like a lover was no longer visible beneath my feet. when i try to consciously scrutinize the shady lumps i traverse i stumble. soon i stop trying. i'm choosing to move forward on this path that i cannot see. i find my way, as if my eyes were closed, even though they're wide open.
letting go of that (perceived) control can be refreshing. i know this path by heart in the daylight. i greet certain rocks and roots with familiarity. in the dark these markers change. the path becomes other. the lover i have known has a side of themselves i may have sensed, but never seen. still can't see--although now i can feel it.
i put myself here
i may have made it. i may not have.
there's no view to behold.
i know where i am
but it doesn't matter.
and so, here i am.
_____
i thought of this as i biked across the mass ave bridge the other night--pressed so close to the teeming mass of boston, yet still so sharply, twinklingly, distant. i held it close to my heart as i again-again-again hiked trails in western mass. trails i have shared with loved ones who are no longer in my life. trails i have shared with past versions of myself. this acute awareness of being the only one here, sitting on this rock with this sunset, has tinges of sadness, but underneath it lies a bedrock of contentment. i'm still here. i'm still breathing. there's so much joy in that.
wherever i am, i have arrived.
____
as i drove back from night hiking i played this song on repeat. sometimes you know even before you know.
it feels good to feel more in life besides concrete walls, even though the multiplicity that comes with that dance is a part of this tangled experience. life also holds the endless advance, crash, and retreat of the water. ebbing and flowing, constant in its change. always now. the push on pedals, inherently cycling forward.
these days i feel alone, happy, and strong. but most of all i feel so incredibly, albeit sometimes painfully, alive. and for that i'm thankful.
i put myself here.
i made it to the top.
i behold the view.
i know where i am.
and so, here i am.
but when the sun fades from the trails the experience changes. night hiking requires a level of awareness and trust that can be difficult to give in to (which is my personal opinion of why it is so sadly avoided.) cole's scolding of not wearing a headlamp makes logical sense if you're trying to get from point A to point B without falling... but sometimes it's not about being logical. sometimes it's about practicing how to walk with openness; knowing you may fall but exploring anyways.
a week or so ago i was enveloped by the cold, foggy darkness. a storm was arriving, with mellow lightening, thunder, rain. the trail i've come to know like a lover was no longer visible beneath my feet. when i try to consciously scrutinize the shady lumps i traverse i stumble. soon i stop trying. i'm choosing to move forward on this path that i cannot see. i find my way, as if my eyes were closed, even though they're wide open.
letting go of that (perceived) control can be refreshing. i know this path by heart in the daylight. i greet certain rocks and roots with familiarity. in the dark these markers change. the path becomes other. the lover i have known has a side of themselves i may have sensed, but never seen. still can't see--although now i can feel it.
i put myself here
i may have made it. i may not have.
there's no view to behold.
i know where i am
but it doesn't matter.
and so, here i am.
_____
i thought of this as i biked across the mass ave bridge the other night--pressed so close to the teeming mass of boston, yet still so sharply, twinklingly, distant. i held it close to my heart as i again-again-again hiked trails in western mass. trails i have shared with loved ones who are no longer in my life. trails i have shared with past versions of myself. this acute awareness of being the only one here, sitting on this rock with this sunset, has tinges of sadness, but underneath it lies a bedrock of contentment. i'm still here. i'm still breathing. there's so much joy in that.
wherever i am, i have arrived.
____
as i drove back from night hiking i played this song on repeat. sometimes you know even before you know.
Click to viewit feels good to feel more in life besides concrete walls, even though the multiplicity that comes with that dance is a part of this tangled experience. life also holds the endless advance, crash, and retreat of the water. ebbing and flowing, constant in its change. always now. the push on pedals, inherently cycling forward.
these days i feel alone, happy, and strong. but most of all i feel so incredibly, albeit sometimes painfully, alive. and for that i'm thankful.