reyodelsoul
reyodelsoul
(be sure to read in order!)
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In its tabletop pot the miniature palm resembled the base of a baseball bat, stood butt end on top of thin, brown soil at a delicate balance. Rings around its perimeter showed the timeline of growth. They were like the geological strata the rushing river had exposed in the gorge. From bottom to top sandstone, shale, limestone, glacial till, and then, abruptly, nothing. Time had just stopped. The palm had been lopped off, scalped clean, neutered while still a toddler. Its crown looked like burnt cork, and from its side thin shoots of leaves shot out like birthday party ribbons. There was a desperate confusion to the whole scene. The child tree, not knowing how to be an adult, gave off a poor imitation of a canopy. The leaves were as garter snakes, slithering out in search of answers, trying to deduce the line of reasoning that brought about its fate, looking to strangle the life out of whatever cruel being aborted its destiny.
The draft of the ceiling fan pushed on these strands and somewhere buried in its pulp the palm felt a stirring, a deja vu for the tropical breeze that it had never and would never experience.
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Some days when a mist covers the mountains, when the muskrats won't show and the microscope's mirror shatters, I want to climb up the blank blue dome as a man would storm the inside of a circus tent, wildly, dangling, and with a steel knife claw a rent in the top, peep, and, if I must, fall.
Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
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Time out of mind is time nevertheless...From even the deepest slumber you awake with a jolt--older, closer to death, and wiser, grateful for breath. You quit your seat in a darkened movie theater, walk past the empty lobby, out the double glass doors, and step like Orpheus into the street. And the cumulative force of the present you've forgotten sets you reeling, staggering as if you'd been struck broadside by a plank. It all floods back to you. Yes, you say, as if you'd been asleep a hundred years, this is it, this is real weather, the lavender light fading, the full moisture in your lungs, the heat from the pavement on your lips and palms--not the dry orange dust from horses' hooves, the salt sea, the sour Coke--but this solid air, the blood pumping up your thighs again, your fingers alive. And on the way home you drive exhilarated, energized, under scented, silhouetted trees.
Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
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Journey5
Finally, there is Love. Fear doesn't understand Love, and sometimes Fear will step in thinking it can play Love's role. We may all have been there to some degree. Bust Love must be let free. Love has the energy of a child. It will gallop around you in glee, it will make you smile. You will find joy in watching it grow large and be as it is meant to be. Sometimes Love will fill you with worry, as it may scamper near the cliff's edge, bump into the other riders and indeed threaten to knock you out of your saddle. That's ok too, you know. Surround yourself with Love, and Love will be your favorite travel companion. When Faith gets too far ahead and Fear starts talking too loudly, it will be Love, in its innocence that will help you carry on. And when you reach those beautiful spots along the way, the open meadows, the soothing hot springs, or the breathless views, it will be Love that will show you how to enjoy the moment.
At the end of the journey, and all journeys must end, if you've kept Love nearby you won't so much mind it all being over. With Fear now gone, Faith holding its hand on your shoulder, and Love still dancing circles around you, you will know finally, with certainty, that it has always been ok.
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Journey4
Fear is often credited with having evolutionary origins, and rightly so. In ancient days when the danger of mountain lions wasn't just metaphorical it was Fear that kept us alive. But Faith has been there this whole time too. It has traveled throughout history on the spiraling path of your DNA. It has lived in the millions of humans and protohumans you have descended from. Along the way Faith has seen that every single one of your ancestors have improbably lived long enough to create the next line of descent. Faith has reason to be confident, for it is incontrovertible that you come from hardy stock. You are more than a survivor, you are a thrivor. Faith has witnessed this. Trust Faith.
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In a certain sense only the newborn in this world are whole, that as adults we are expected to be, and necessarily, somewhat nibbled. It's par for the course.
Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
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Journey3
Faith is always in the company, and should be placed out front. Faith should be the tip of the spear thrust. It is often said by those struggling that they've lost Faith. This happens. In the fog, the rain, the white-out snow storm, or just where the path bends sharply around a cliff wall, Faith can momentarily vanish. That's ok. In its confidence, Faith can sometimes get a little ahead of us. In its eagerness and excitement it wants to move forward forward, so it doesn't get along to well with Fear. That's ok too. Faith can be tempered, but don't ever demote it from navigator. Faith is more capable a guide than you would ever believe. This is because Faith knows how resilient you are inside. Allow me to explain.
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Journey2
To walk these trails necessarily means marshaling your riders. Ultimately you control this drive, but each mate has their own skill set. First, there is Fear.
Fear is the black rider. Fear can stop the party in its tracks. Fear, is concerned for you. It has listened to mom and dad, to your teachers, to your friends. It wants to keep you safe. This safety may mean a halting in place, frozen fright. Or it may mean fight or flight, the cortisol pumping panic that sends everyone hurtling back down the path they just came up. Back down to the familiar-comfortable-safe. Fear has its purpose. It is the sentinel looking for mountain lions, or the merest little sign that could potentially mean a predator is near. Fear is your top adviser. Consider what Fear has to say, but follow the other rider: Faith.
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Journey1
Life is a walk on a path. Wait, has anyone said that before? Ok, let's give it more color. Picture yourself somewhere out west. The badlands, spaghetti western land, but more mountainous. The part of the movie where the hero is ambushed by villains crouched behind boulders. You are on horseback and in a pack, because life isn't taken alone, even if sometimes it feels so.
The landscape is gloriously varied. You've seen this. Wide plateaus, rushing streams of seasonal melt-water, high peaks carved by rain like an old man whittling a block of wood. Bald patches here, pine forests there. Was that a goat or an ibex? The path widens at parts, making the going easy. And it will narrow to a near close. At times you'll lose your way. At other times you'll come to forks and be unsure whether to choose the beaten path or that road less traveled of poetry. Your horse will buckle climbing over rock-slides on what you had thought was a clear path. Your fellow riders may want to turn back, they'll fill you with doubt. But the narrow trails full of hazard are so often near the great peaks. The trails are hairy because so few have blazed them.
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Abyss6
There is a why behind everything, I think. This seemingly senseless universe, full of scattered violence, and randomly distributed luck, it must have a why. All the atoms, molecules, protons and electrons that have gathered around you and among you must have a why. The abyss can't be read on a CT scan, so studies of it are not peer-reviewed, they are personal. Hiding in that blackness, somewhere in your mind, are the reasons for everything you do. Etched in its walls is the story of your life. The effects of every interaction you've had with people and nature are grooves your fingers can touch, if you just reach out.
The abyss is not a dark hole looking to consume you. It is not a bottomless pit, it is an endless gift. And to think, it has been there all along.
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