Sunday, March 27, 2011
"When the trees sing, It doesn't really matter if you know the song,Or if you know the words,Or even if you know the tune. What really matters is knowing, That the trees are singing at all." M. Stepanek
Inspiration can be found in so many places. Inspiration may be discovered among such diverse voices. I ponder this quote today from a very young philosopher. Thinking how he would have been so wonderful a companion and wanderer... Now as I listen to the songs of these of these so old trees, Among the wilds visiting with these ever present ancient winds, Musing about 'knowings', and singing, and other subtle wonders.....DSD
Friday, March 25, 2011
"Goals... are part of an internal quest - one of fulfillment and excellence in the here and now. The key to goal realisation is to choose challenging destinations that will enable you to create joy during the journey." Huang & Lynch
Such enlightened perspectives on goals,
So personal reflections of our selves,
Adventures among every step,
Joy within almost all moments,
What could be more wondrous,
Than such quests for our goals...
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Who first called them 'slabs' we may never know, and they likely mirror those countless other local cliffs hidden away out there, yet near enough to us all. It was just to be a quiet day for me. A rest day for tired legs and old tendons. A day for simple recovery of walking, carrying little except some books, water, and a big lunch. I remember that day chuckling how it wasn't that long ago that a much younger one had commented about how 'retro' I was in still using my old cassette player I had to listen to the muses and their music. Now I have a little Shuffle too which never ceases to amaze me with its size, capacity, and simple complexity. The name fits with me as well as that is how I feel my hiking is now at times these many decades in, especially with a full pack upon my back.
I was early and able to find and lay claim to the best shaded ground, under an even more perfect tree nearby our slabs, in this ancient valley. With some water and my journal in my lap, and those fancy little ear buds all tucked in my ears, I now could simply watch the many others here practice and move their way up and across these many polished rock slab faces.
After dozing for a bit, and then waking to wonder what the young ones must think about the grey hair asleep under the tree, I turned up the volume some. Then I began to just watch, to enjoy their enthusiasm, and to appreciate their boundless energy. The next few hours was the best blending of the most amazing symphony of music, motion, and movements I have experienced in ages...
While they were not listening to what I was, they must have been hearing their own harmonies as they climbed. What artists they all were that adventure day. Each had a grace in their movements, and a focus to their motion... All were joined in that wonderful vertical dance upon ancient rock...
Not all were as skilled as others in leading these routes, but all were still artists of a kind... Even those that struggled or fell, still did so in a dramatic fashion - like the heroes we read about who always get up even after being solidly knocked down time and again... It seemed that when the tempo of my silent music picked up, so did their wonderful efforts...
Then when I was listening to some quieter sounds, their focus seemed to increase but slow. What amazing synchronicity it was... What beautiful compositions this all made, this symphony of motion, and movement, and music...
What a wonderful adventurous rest day it was, out among all this spirit and stone.....
My thanks to B. Model for the lower image above, and to P&K Smith for the upper image.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
Similar weather, such a familiar route.
The same sea of summits, views from memories too...
Ageless rocks of a cairn, holding close an old summit register.
Trembling some as it is opened...
And there, the same hand writing, now as back then.
Both words and paper faded; though meanings still so vibrant...
Then the simple placing of a few Summit Stones, and moments for quiet reflection.
Touching the same cairn, now with older lined hands,
Much greyer of hair as well,
Being tempered of energy,
Yet not of spirit.
So many years have passed,
To return to where it all began.....
My sincere appreciation to S. Abegg for the top image above, and to R. Ingraham for the lower image.