The Mountain

I hear the voice of the Mountain.  Close your eyes and feel the blood pumping just below the surface of your skin…  A current.  A whisper. I can hear my own heart beat in that river; a steady rhythm that gives me life.   Just below the surface of my skin with my eyes closed…

That is how I hear the Mountain.

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I have to go.  I have to go and be in the wilds and the woods and the waters.  I have to.  My spirit needs the silence between the gusts of wind.  The gentle cascade of water.  The creaking trees and their tousling leaves.  The footfalls on the path…

It is home.

I know I am soft and small in her vastness and we are not friends.  I know I am not disciplined or strong the way I ought to be.  I know that I do not understand the voice I hear. Still there are barriers between us…  I have been sheltered and safe for so long.

But I know that you have a voice, Mountain.  And I know that I hear it with my alien ears that long for understanding of what the earth would ask of me.  How can I serve you?  How can I shelter and steward and bless you?  Tell me.

I must go.  I must press into the sound I hear all around and within me.

Oh steady rhythm.  Just below the surface of my skin.

You Always, Never Change

The alarm went off at 4 am.  Because some things never change.

The smoothie filled with spinach and berries and coconut milk.  The coffee smell filling the air.  The brown dog wiggling in excitement at another day, watching me intently.  Because some things never change.

Surveying.  Chemistry.  That HP calculator I don’t know how to use and it’s sticky number 3.  The field book and my painstaking notes that I hope are good enough.  Did I remember to do everything?  Don’t forget –

The book of coaching materials – workouts and drills.  A stack of notes on other people’s stroke work.  I love the bird’s eye view from the pool deck and the chlorine smell. It satisfies me in a way that my own achievements haven’t.

Running from the pool to class. The calculations trickling from the faucet in my brain down my arm and out the end of my pencil.  I’m not sure.  Is it?  

… I can do this.  Because some things never change.

Work calls.  Some kind of drama with something.  And a report due.  Can you do it?  Of course I can.  Because some things never change.  The hours disappear.  I’m not sure where they went.

I sit at a table by myself for lunch.  I look around for a familiar face but there are none.  Just me, today.  I am content.  Because some things never change.

And my brain switches from one flow to another.  The notes are frantic and disjointed – I am tired. 12 hours?  Already?  Just make it through this class…

Down to the water.  Slipping into the secret abandon and whispering under the calm stillness.  I believe in me. I believe in me.  Because some things never change.

Drive an hour and a half to get back home.  Back to the brown dog.  Back to more work and homework.

I want to watch TV.  Maybe this weekend I can schedule it in…

Because some things never change.

I kinda like you, Bethany Bosch.  If anybody is going to get something done, it’s you.  Because you always, never change.