Renewing Life

In proximity of the old volcano
I persist
being eaten by fatigue
until it devours me
oblivion of concerns
anxiety melting and
burn off the career
tearing out the cancer of failed love
money is not a thought
, anymore
a focus on simple existence
a new suffering
of my choosing
a distance at a time
painstakingly covering ground
a bump, a washboard,
the catwalk
bounded a precipitous fall
water rushes below my feet
and the mountain emerges from the clouds
as I emerge from the woods anew
I pause looking at simple nature
hearing the silence around
this is the end of summer

The Beckoning Rock

Never in my life have I understood Bob Dylan
Until I stood humbly at the base of this monolith
His cadence and tone and words urge me to climb
Climb with urgency, climb thoughtfully
Someone has died here, witness the shrine
Move upwards into that volcanic core
And let those serpentine rails sport
the endless freight trains below

And a stone strikes me, painfully, in the chest
The foot that loosed it far above unseen
I am through the barrier of worlds
and must ascend to get back to Earth
There is no down that is not fueled by failure and pain

The Gorge slowly reveals itself to us
Secrets of the elk grazing on Pierce Island
the lengthening of shadows as time passes to evening
Cracks in stone vary in width
some accepting only a finger and thumb
others demand a commitment of your whole body
an envelopment of stone I find comforting
inchworming between basalt teats
and emerging to the trusted person holding my life line

I come to a corner, where all I can perceive is air
and fear and falling
and the failings of weakness this brings
I practice the disciple of rock zen
I cast aside many weedy thoughts
focus on essential small things
the place for the hand
a suggestion of friction for the foot
This approach always provides success
unless you fall, of course

The clouds pinkening until bats come out
black erratic blurs to the East
we climb into the dark, 400 feet above Dylan's rails
at a point we no longer need to hurry
it cannot get any darker
and then, we are done

We walk gingerly barefoot in the dark
down a trail empty of all, even the ghosts
and we pause only to view the silver stream of moonlight
spilt diagonally across the Columbia

Jim provides the final wisdom
Exhilaration and fear originate from the same experience,
the same adrenaline, the same person
they are only differentiated by intention and perspective