Flying back from a wonderful weekend in Seattle, Washington
with Haley massey, Kelsey, and Brad—Josh October was with us a good bit as
well. We camped at Ipsut Creek near
Carbon Glacier inside Mount Ranier National Park—a glorious view found after a five
mile hike into the woods. Fourteen miles
hiked in two days, and my body is well aware of it. I have pushed myself, but seemingly had
little time to myself to see how I feel, to check in with myself, or to see what
I have learned. You see, I walked/hiked
ahead of everyone else, listening to my Summer Solstice playlist while
stoned. I was viewing both the magic in
the cozy green moss cuddling the trees and crevices, as well as the way the
clouds settled around the taller trees bordering the creek bed and the edge of
Mother Mountain. Mother Mountain was standing
tall and steady, immovable and strong--never changing—but able to see
everything worth seeing by standing still.
…Lucky girl…
I feel a little heartbreak, wanting everything at once—the quiet,
the get-away, the “I am finally alone”—in contrast to the realization that “this
will only last for a day, so take in everything while you can.” This little group of trees was my
favorite. A bed of moss surrounding them
on all sides with the slope leaning towards the river. I could
stay here… Noticing the difference
in writing between the previous two pages and this one. Can I ever just be wild and free again?
It is an odd kind of heartbreak—the desire for freedom in
the midst of the need for responsibility and order. I would never trade it.
I wonder if this is how other people feel on vacation. I am trying to pack as much feeling,
experience, and living/regrouping into the weekend as I can so that I can ride
that wave for as long as I can. It feels
sad to always be leaving that adventure in another place instead of that being
packed in my bag with me. I write so
that I can remember it—not what happened necessarily, but the feelings. Always chasing a feeling, or rather the
things that give me feelings.
Rock me. Hold
me. Keep me here with you as long as you
can. I can already hear them calling for
me, and I’m not allowed to not answer.
“I’m here.” “I’m here for all of you.” But I leave my most tender places in the
woods- a trail I leave behind me hoping that I can close my eyes and feel my
way back, when it is still.
