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.
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.