On the path

Before I fell asleep the other night, i had a quick thought and i wrote it down. I wondered, as my eyes closed and vanquished the last few moments of conciousness, if i would find those words useful in the morning.

"Remember what you love," I had written. "Make room for it."

i got up, grabbed my new camelback and headed out for some hiking. (Side note, which i must tell you now: i've been resistant to buying a camelback for many years, mostly because something about watching people suck from a big plastic straw that has to be bitten first in order to release water--and then watching them offer it to me--kinda grossed me out. but now i don't know how i stood drinking from nalgenes all this time!!! oh, and i didn't actually buy it, my friend ana did, in a sneaky move during her visit here this past winter. Thanks, Ana!). For some reason, i was called to hike along Havlin Creek, which runs directly through the Missionary Ridge Burn Zone--the result of a devastating, drought induced fire that occurred 5 summers ago. I pulled up to the trail head, threw on my gear, and headed up the side of a red sandy cliff.

I switch-backed for sometime, climbing higher and higher above the animas valley. i passed numerous agave in bloom with towers of bellflowers and admired their view of the snaking animas river below. i watched my landmarks become destinations for matchbox cars, and soon their significance disappeared with the sounds of the highway.

i traversed a scarred landscape. hundreds upon thousands of dead, charcoaled trees poked their scraggly remains at the sky, as if beckoning it for one more strike of lightning. The forest of pinon, oak, and aspen had all burnt to the ground, leaving the mountainside bare and eroding: the valley below has subjected to numerous flash floods without the presence of trees-- and their roots--to hold back the deluge pouring down the sandy slope during snowmelt or thunderstorm. i wandered further in, wondering if the creek still ran, or if, without the guidance of the forest, it had lost its path much like the rain. but soon i found myself amidst a buzzing understory of little aspens, wild raspberry, lupine, aster and thimbleberry. butterflies and beetles bumbled from flower to flower, and the growing green abundance finally led me brookside to the familar song of water crossing rock. "it's coming back to life with sweet grace," i thought. the birds chirped around me, and the collective movement of insect wings nearly drowned out my footsteps. i recalled annie dillard's description of her mastery of silent walking in her book "An American Childhood', and longed for the ability to step without sound, until my fear of snakes quickly rationalized my relative noisiness.

the depth of my concious thought was swallowed up by the desire to engage with the world around me. i took on the liveliness and eager energy of reclaimation going on about me--the spell of sadness that had recently enveloped me dissolved in the bright light given off by each living thing i encountered. while i didn't necessarily feel myself as a part of the landscape, i felt an invitation--a dare, even--to be inspired by the aftermath of destruction, and to translate it into my own reality.

at the top of the trail, i gazed northward at the San Juans and westward to the La Platas. without my noticing, these mountains witnessed my ascent into their realm, thousands of feet above the sea. But they don't care why I'm here. They only know that I am.

Gravity pulled at my feet and i found myself galloping down the mountain. I leapt over downed trees, and pinballed my course through the rocky terrain. my eyes registered the obstacles ahead, and my body adjusted accordingly--i never had to look down at my feet. Amazing, i wondered. Why don't i engage this ability more regularly?

i got back to my car, only falling once, but fortunately, the dandelion all around held out their leaves, and i chewed a poultice of greens and yarrow and stuck it to my bloody shin. it's healing nicely.

I love being in the context of something so much bigger than Me. because, in all that room, there's so much love to give and receive. inside my head, well, there's just dusty old experiences and those (mostly) nasty voices telling me who i am. The world around me holds more possibility, and it offers me new experiences, and new perspective. I just have to choose to wake up and embrace it.