From “The Prophet” ~ Kahlil Gibran ~ “No man can reveal to you that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of your knowledge” as “Greg Braden” writes about “It makes tremendous sense that hidden within us we would already have the power to communicate with the force that’s responsible for our existence”.
Or is it? an impasse? Tomorrow morning we are leaving toward Owl Creek Pass, CO, leaving my Friends Mark and Bobbie behind, my good Friends who have opened their door to us as so many have done in near past, within the physical aspects and also of the mind. Mark himself has been writing his own Blog while not long ago on the road, now within their home, hikes, meet with Friends, he still continues to do so. It is interesting to conversate toward that subject with specially a nuance of mine as I call my own pages a "Journal" as he calls his a “Blog”. A Journal has always been in my known definition, words of thoughts mainly for most personal inception of present and past, sometimes of the uncertain always future, moments characterizing could be of joviality, sadness, dilemmas, the vast spiritual array, has becoming a need uncorking the kept thoughts avoiding a mental traffic jam could be resulting in an unwanted bursts.
I am not a writer, never considered myself being one, I only talk to myself and when the small keyboard on my phone is readily available, the fonts are always easy to project, my level of a sure nearing bottleneck dissipates as the paragraphs take shape and form. It is all always very simple I find. However, a couple days ago, while leaving Muley Point after an incredible Sunrise penetrating the deepest of my senses, instead of writing as I also often do, I recorded myself. I was having a bad morning, I was at the same time having a good morning, I was having a close, very close encounter with
Lance when tears and smiles mixed in profusion.
It has seemed lately as the more astonishing my surrounding is, the more I miss him, the more I want with him share those precious moments offered to me and not physically to him. I want to put my arm around his shoulders and stand there with no needs of words and experience this slice of Life uncommon maybe to the many, common for the ones who take the time to also taste what once this World was all about. The day passed, I have learned to accept time as my savior of such moments and as I listened to my own then words playing, I, for the first time felt I could not make them…. public.
I was and became too conscientious toward a Public which again and again would read of my ranting, my fall down that cliff, that rugged cliff which does not spare a single emotion. I lost my safety net that day. My ability to transfer into these pages the inner core of a wave which did not then appease me but only turned into an emotional storm as I thought it over and over… but this is my Journal, this is it’s purpose, this is my therapy and has been for these past years, this is not a magazine. I realize it is a motion I sometimes go through, a double edge sword exposed with it’s sharpness on either side. These pages are the ones that help me, they carry me through my nights and days and to me they are the fundamental aspects of my own Life.
Thinking and thinking some more while from Ouray to 10 east, 8, CR 858 and settled at Beaver Lake, pulled a chair in the shade. Thoughts materializing about it all. Analogy. I suddenly feel as being in two separate Movies, sometimes merging in confusion. Blur. Muddy and foggy as being cold window glass on a winter night from a simmering indoor heat. I need to sharpen the vision through them. One reel is playing the images of my beautiful surroundings most yet untouched by the Human deluge of present civilization. The next reel is winding projecting images of a past I carry too often in darkness even if some of the photos are of good memories.
The screen becomes wider. Nature is suddenly itself a blur as I feel myself on my own last breath, the last one I felt it’s warmth on a January 26th of years past. It all remains stagnant too long at times trying to shake it off, it all transcribes in words and yet why this last time they remained absent to others eyes and senses on these pages?
I just have not found the answer yet. There is no answer for now. I will keep playing both features as they have these past years. It is only the price to pay, no shortchange here, the sticker has had all the options one can imagine, they never breakdown fueled to no end day after day.
Evening has come after a short hike around this truly beautiful Lake, Spirit always a few steps ahead, the smells here are abundant, I am myself filled with them as he is, even if I don’t quite know where they come from. Some mushrooms are growing in the shade under the pine trees, I also don’t know what they are. It looks like they have been munched on and I make sure Spirit does not follow suit. The rocks standing tall this afternoon in their grayish colors are starting to turn gold as the Sun is setting and the shadows already enveloping us are ahead slowly rising as a final curtain going the wrong way.
"I have had a great deal of interest in my photography over the years, for which I am grateful. Their sales are of much importance funding this Journal. Yes, please feel free to purchase one or two… or a few. I have been adding some photos lately, there will be more as I sift through about 100,000 of them.
Take a look. “Smugmug” stands for quality. Thank you”
Update on the photo contest…
We did end up in the top ten, however were not chosen as the First Prize Winner which will be the source of a short Movie by Ron Howard and his Daughter. I listened to his own comments about the winning photo. It was picked because of the “drama” it related. Thank you all who voted the “public round” for your support. This is the winning photo below on the left.
Be well, always…
Ara & Spirit