A month of fall has somehow slipped past, one horrifically slow in the roller coaster meanderings of these up-and-down days, and one frighteningly quick in the progression of have-tos and must-nots and all too fleeting glimpses at joy.
Every day I walk past a billboard advertising I think that movie that they're making out of Kite Runner. The source really doesn't matter, its the caption that gets me: There is a way to be good again. There is a way to be greater than all of these faceless despairs, many ways in fact. It got me thinking about inspiration, motivation, what ever little kick in the pants that helps you get through the day. All the people whom I most admire seem driven by almost supernatural forces and a strength too remarkable to be human. My own pithy attempts just to make it somehow from dawn to dusk more than pale in comparison.
To continue yesterday's musings, I'm wondering and wandering on the things that keep me going. I'm thinking about the things that remain, even through all the stomach clenching chaos I have a knack of discovering for myself, the glimpses of better that have a habit of popping up at all the right times. I close my eyes and I can see mountain silhouettes, pretty much universally. I see the shades of green darkness, the shadow horizon of the Siskiyou's in Southern Oregon, and the dirt road unfurling in front of me. I see the hills of the Orlicke hory, where I am making my way aimlessly from foothill village to village. Mostly I am just on the edge of the woods, looking over and across the fields to the sunset beyond the next ridge. I close my eyes and I am lying in the middle of a deserted Forest Service campground, with two little girls clinging to me as I point out made up constellations. I keep them closed and I am running, simply moving for the sake of feeling my body, freely and without pain. I am on stage, bathing in music like water and the presence of people whom I love. I am sitting too close to a campfire, one which I have built with my own two hands, and we are singing. I close my eyes and I am on the top of Neakanie Mountain, and I am tucked into the hillside in the sunshine, drowsy, and amazed at the beach and endlessly blue water so far below me. I am sunrise and unencumbered time. For all of these things I am. And in all of these things it is the simple act of being which is remarkable, and holy above all.
I get up in the morning because somewhere deep down, sometimes more hidden than others, I believe that in this day something astounding will occur. I have faith that I will meet someone or something who will challenge the boldness of my perceptions. Or some small conversation will manage to reach me unawares. I get up because, or with the hope of being surprised, of being pushed, and hopefully of pushing back. In each day I need movement, the promise of the strokings of endorphins, and of big sky and fog. I need to know, and to constantly be reminded that the world is still out there, still pulsating. Sometimes this is as simple as taking away my breath, or as ethereal as shattering the hard shell of some wayward soul. I live for connections, for connecting people, for connecting to people, and for being connected to my own little turtle-shell atmosphere.
On this day of reflection and benediction, what moves you?
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