Lines

We do something for long enough and then we reach the edge. That edge is where I am now standing. Gazing out into the distance, thinking about the mountains.

Finding that edge and peering over. What is there? Sometimes I just want to jump to see if I can fly.

Seeking adventure to shatter reality as I know it. I want to continuously break my frame of understanding so that I can see more of this whole thing, to see what is really going on.

Intrigued by strenuous activity, states of fear and the unknown, perhaps flirting with that edge of death. What is it like to look death in the eyes and celebrate?

I have a condition that is causing me to go blind and deaf. It is wild.

With the world fading away due to my hearing and vision loss, every day, in certain respects, grows darker. Simple things are vanishing before my eyes. I trip over things down low and run into objects and people I do not see.

I try to grab ahold of something, but when it comes to degenerative conditions, they have a mind and plan of their own.

I merely observe the passing clouds, grateful to see anything at all.

Falling into darkness is no longer an option, I’ve been there.

My go-to was skating, pounding the ground after one failed trick attempt after another. If I wasn’t on the board, I would be in the forest seeking high cliff faces or in the mountains exploring the alpine with thunderstorms or blizzards rolling in.

What will happen if we go there? Will we come back?

One part of me would like to turn away and give up. I cannot do that. I mean, I can, but I will not do that, as I want to participate.

Why do I listen to this voice? Why do I trust this voice? Why do I think this voice is me?

Who is the one that observes, who gives attention to this experience? I am that which is aware.

I witness how strongly I hold onto my identity, protecting this construction with great will.

I am afraid to lose it, to lose this sense of who I am, yet, I believe, there is a freedom on the other side.

Yet, when I look inward, I can’t find anything. Maybe just some remnant thoughts drifting around, a feeling and urge here and there, perhaps the body aches some, the belly rumbles with hunger.

The posture, the leverage, the weight distribution, the vulnerability, the breath, the endurance, it goes on and on.

Can I find the little pockets of space inside of myself, and let them grow?

We come back to the breath again and again, lose ourselves and remember.

A beautiful mountain. Nobody ever said it was supposed to be easy. How can we humans even know what it is supposed to be?

As we walk along this beautiful and uncertain path, how do we find the mountain to climb, and how do we know when we have arrived at any “top”, as if there is truly ever a summit?

The mountains provoke this easily, as much is demanded from me simultaneously, each step requiring a commitment, not to mention the awe of wilderness around and within.

I don’t know who I am and that is okay. I will still walk the world and pay attention.

From time to time, I even feel a worry that this curiosity will vanish, and that I will stumble upon my last question.

For many years, I figured if I could learn the totality of secrets, the deepest wisdom, I would be prepared and ready to set forth and embark across this ocean of living. Yet, the world is constantly shifting and changing, as if there were such a static state to be ready for.

And we rest in this, until we forget.

Here, I know nothing; It is a pure state of being, a glimpse of clarity, a question answered for a moment, and back into the raging current I fall.

If life is a miracle, that must make death just as much so.

There are ten million reasons I can produce in this moment alone as to why something is not ‘right’, but I would like to honor and acknowledge the equally weighted ten million reasons and items that make it beautiful and all right.

An answer that remains elusive, as in the same breath, some come into this world and some leave.

It may come on slowly and just be one small occurrence on one random day, but it will be there and will be just enough to get us to the next day.

A great old pine tree takes time to become its full expression.