Other Mountains Beautiful Weeds

I pull the flap of the tent back. The cool air nips my nose. A drop smacks my forehead and runs around my eye and down my cheek.

I look up at the sky where the ragged rock slashes its peace.




Thin white clouds transform from moment to moment drawing new lines but never forming into anything tangible.




I sit with my legs crossed just outside the tent. My bottom feels cold stuck to the wet ground. I place my hands on my knees just like I learned in yoga class. I focus on the tip of the mountain. It will take two hours to get to the top today.

There is already a family at the top. I wonder how early they must have started. My eyes are caught by a dear at the bottom of the trail. He sees me. And then like a bolt he jumps and runs along the base of the mountain and into a grove of trees. He crashes through the foliage until I can no longer see him.

A bird dives from the sky and then scoops its self back up making a V. A violet flower stands out in a bed of yellow. From here I can see its dew, two drops run together to make a tiny river down its pedals.

A camel pack lays a few feet from my tent. The sight of it makes me turn away but its image imprints in my brain and I can’t shake it. I see myself running to it and stomping on it with everything that I have. Then in my mind I pick it up and throw it with such inhumane strength that it knocks that damn bird right out of the sky. I watch in my head as the bird flails then falls to the earth. My morbid mind turns. A stab of pleasure like I just ate some delicious poison runs through to my finger tips. Then the pain. The guilt. The loneliness trickles at first then stabs me in the heart and I can no longer sit here like this. I can no longer hold still.

I stand. I look around me. What once was peaceful now turns dark, distorted. The flowers jump up in a scream. I could swear I hear a dear screech from somewhere beyond. I see an ugly stick that I hadn’t noticed before. I bend down and pick it up. A sharp edge cuts my finger. Blood trickles. Somehow this soothes me. I turn to my tent. I imagine myself violently ripping it apart until it stands like nothing more than poles and tattered threads.

But I don’t do any of this.

Instead I set the bloody stick next to the opening. I walk to the camel back. I’m revolted. Too many memories. Of him. I debate on just leaving it there. It would be easy. Someone would claim it I’m sure.

This was our place. Our field of flowers.

We came here every year at this time. We would hike up to the top of the mountain then slide on our bottoms down the glacier until we reached the emerald lake at the bottom and that was my favorite. It was surrounded by trees.

The tiny forest was packed full of wild life. Glistening eyes shining through the darkness looked like dozens of spies watching us and our happiness. He always wanted to leave before me but he endured while I soaked up the sun. I love the contrast of the freezing snow and the blaring sun. The contradiction fed me like a drug.

Every year we came here, except last year. I didn’t think it would feed me like it once had. In fact I was sure walking up that slope would rip me in two. I was sure that I would never see the emerald lake again.

I bend down and touch my finger tips to the flesh of the camel pack. I kneel there for several minutes. What’s inside me is so mixed up so confusing that I am not sure whether to run or continue forward.

Fear fights down my resolve. I kneel there barely touching the camel pack. "I have to" I say. "I have to do this." I can’t keep going on like this. I can’t keep living in the past and stuck in some warped dark future. I need to live right now.

I wrap my hand around the neck of the pack. I squeeze it wanting it to burst, rage runs through me followed by relief, then guilt, then a flash of peace, then hysteria all in a matter of a tiny moment, a flash of color and rage.

Too much there is no more thinking there are no more decisions. I throw the pack on my back. Secure it. I don’t look to the top of the mountain. I look at my feet at the floor, the earth the dirt. I walk and squash a wild flower as I pass. I can almost hear it scream. The pain cuts me. The guilt. I start to walk faster then faster. Then I am running until I am at the base but I don’t look up.

I hear voices behind me. Lots of them. It’s getting late in the morning soon this place will be swarming with hikers. I want to push them away I want them to leave. I avoid or resist turning and screaming at them like a mad woman. I am aware what I must look like but I don’t care.

I start to run up the trail watching my feet only. I run and run faster and faster until I can barely breathe. I know I must stop and drink some water. But I don’t’. I don’t stop. That thing on my back is nothing more than a symbol to me right now. I run and run. Then smack. I run into a wall but it’s not a wall it’s a person. I stumble backwards. On the ground in front of me is an old woman. She looks so fragile I wonder what the hell she is doing up here. She is rubbing her neck.

"Oh my god." I say. "Are you OK?"

She looks up at me and smiles no anger there. I reach my hand down to her.

"So fast." she says but she isn’t reprimanding me. Her words are kind. "So fast honey. S Slow down. Enjoy the view." She looks out over the edge and so I do too.

What I see transforms that moment and seers itself into my brain and then there is a change a change that I had been waiting for. A change that I didn’t even know I was working toward. The view is beautiful, no breath taking because this may be the tallest mountain but it isn’t the only one. There are mountains as far as my eyes will take me. In that moment I know that I am going to make it to the emerald lake. It’s going to hurt and I probably will never come back after today but I will be ok. I am OK.

The older woman turns and watches as the younger version of herself tromps up the mountain, determined to beat life, to take it on by the horns and concur it. Will she stop and enjoy the ride? Will she smell the flowers and see how beautiful they are

or will she step on them thinking they are weeds?

I love those moments. She thinks to herself. When you cross someone's path like it was meant to be. She wonders about the younger woman. What put that look on her face?

As the younger woman walks further away from her up the mountain she feels a little piece of her heart rip out, almost like a gift. A gift of her life left behind. She hopes the woman will see all of the colors, all of the textures, the magic, the mystery, even the ordinary.

She begins to hike down the mountain, a fresh new energy pumps through her veins as visions of freedom and adventure culminate and twirl in her mind. What's next she wonders. She's been trying this new thing where she lets her heart and mind come together to form a vision of what she wants to do next.

Life has been different than what she expected. Her body aches more than usual. She's more limited in what she can do but she almost feels a bit like a teenager. Freedom. When was the last time she had so much freedom? The sky looks a little bluer, a whole lot brighter and she has to keep herself from running down the steep slope to get to the bottom. She's ready for the next mountain. What ever that is going to look like.

When Love Makes You Question…..EVERYTHING

She had been the happiest that she had been in her whole life. After being in the safe, sheltered yet hectic environment of school, this life was freeing; her mother would die if she understood the danger that she put her self in. But she loved the adventure. If she were to get caught…the thought trailed on and a smile covered her face as she thought of the consequences. What fascinated her the most were the children. They ran and played with such vigor and with out the thousands of plastic toys she had grown up with.

She loved being in a different culture and she loved being able to help. She brought hope and that thought was invigorating. She sat on a log writing down her thoughts, itching her leg and flecking off the mud that had found its way there. She wondered how fast her body would age in this environment; being under the sun so much. The food was fresh. When was the last time she ate meat? She couldn’t remember. She loved all of the fresh fruit. Nothing like she had ever tasted in her life. The food burst with aliveness as soon as it touched her tongue, not like the sluggish mush she was used to. Her face was full of color and her hair was shiny and strong. But…..

There was always a but. Fruit and human bodies thrived here but so did many other things, like bugs very large bugs, bugs that entered her dreams and some times devoured her. But the large bugs weren’t the scariest it was the microscopic creatures. The ones that enter the human body with out notice and take up shop leaving the host worn and sometimes, especially with the young and old, dead.

As her mind followed this trail of thought a crease entered her forehead. No matter how much hope she brought there was still too much of the unknown; things her Ivy league brain couldn’t touch. So much that she wanted to do for these people but couldn’t. Her heart was filled with so much desire that she thought it would explode. Burst right through her chest. She didn’t’ notice but her hand was plastered up against her breast bone as if to hold in its contents.

Just then a man not 10 feet away, hidden by an array of tropical green looked up from his own writings and saw her. He became transfixed drawn in by the crease in her brow and then the worry on her lips. His eyes drew to her hand clutching her heart as if she would die. She had landed right smack in to the middle of his life 10 days and 7 hours ago. Despite every effort on his part she confiscated nearly every waking thought he had. There was no one in the world like her. He was sure of it. Further more he was sure he would never find any one ever again that would measure up to her someone that would make his whole body squirm with desire. No one that would make his soul ache like this.

Soul…at this thought his mind began to wander. Had he ever used this word in reference to himself? Soul…he had never felt as if he had a soul. He had always seen his thinking and his feeling as biological, neurological. He could see the processes in his mind. It hadn’t always been this way. Had it? He was once a young boy, full of innocence. That is how she made him feel. She made him feel like that like he did when he was very young before his head was full of ……knowledge. She made him feel like there was something more than the chemical processes that accompany desire.

But looking at her watching her right there, her face flush, her mind active her body young and firm and her hair wild. Watching her he was keenly aware of all of the chemical changes that occurred through out his body. He was aware of the thoughts both tender and x rated that passed through his mind at the site of her.

He was also aware of his admiration for her. She was brilliant, kind, compassionate and very passionate, almost to a fault. Maybe that was it. Maybe he had felt the one with out the other but never the two together. Maybe that was what he was feeling. She had captured his mind and his body. That must be it. But he didn’t believe this so much. For the first time in his life or the first time since he was a very young boy he sensed that there was something more, something greater maybe something eternal. And with this he was brought back like magic to his childhood.

When he was five his mother decided that she would give in to his constant begging and bargaining. She would let him have a dog. But with one condition; he had to choose a dog from the humane society. A dog that needed a home and he had to promise upside and down that he would take care of the dog and that meant all of its needs.

“Oh, I promise I promise.” He told his mother between gulps of air. He could feel the fire of delight burning in the corners of his brain tickling the base of his neck and warming the whole of his spine. He kept this excitement at bay and under control as his mother spoke. He was afraid at any moment she would take back what she said. He had wanted a dog more than he had wanted anything in his entire 5 years of life. He stood on the balls of his feet waiting for her to finish talking searching for the down turn in her speech of the frown on her face that would indicate that his dreams had been dashed. But when she finished talking she stood silent her arms folded and her face smiling.

He waited not speaking not even breathing. “Aren’t you excited?” She asked her face full of puzzlement. “I thought this was what you wanted? I….” Then it hit him this was real. He was going to get a dog. The warmth and energy that had been brewing burst forth like it was the fourth of July. His tiny body shot up like a rocket. “Oh mom! Really?” He nearly knocked her over when he threw his arms around her. She chuckled. “Really.” She said with a giant smile. “Really.” She said again as she pulled him to her and ruffled his hair. Then she knelt down on her knees, cupped his face with her hands and looked at him in the eyes. Her expression serious she said “This is a big responsibility. You understand that? Don’t you?”

The boy nodded and felt so big and grand and mature. “Yes mom.” He said. “I know.” Then he reverted to his five year old self and this time he did knock her off her feet as he tackled her with a hug. They both fell to the ground giggling for nearly 10 minutes straight.

Oh God how he had loved that dog, thought he was just about human. Their relationship started out naïve and innocent but shortly after his mother got him the dog his grandfather gave him something that he would cherish for the rest of his life.

His grandfather seeing his brilliance gave him a book. Apparently the “gift” had skipped a generation and his father had no interest in this sort of thing. His grandfather knew, felt it some how that this little boy, his grandson, carried the gift. The way he looked at the world, the way he analyzed and went on about things at such a young age.

“Grandpa did you know?” The boy came bouncing into the small kitchen of his condo did you know that bumble bees die when they sting. Then he reached out his tiny four year old hand to show this grandfather. Look he belted his face full of excitement. Look what the bee left on my finger, her stinger! Then the boy looked down at his throbbing finger and sighed but she is gone isn’t she grandfather? She died. At first the grandfather tilted his head and examined the boy. The finger was fine but his face his chubby little face was creased with concerned thinking.

And he knew he should be sad for the boy but he wasn’t he was excited because he thought: My god this boy is thinking. The little boy looked up into his grandfather’s eyes and asked the question. “What happens grampy? What happens when things die?” Before the old man could even answer, the little boy was following a stream of thoughts all his own. Will I die? When will I die? Then he said with great feeling. “I don’t want to die!”

The old man smiled remembering oh so long ago that he too started having these thoughts as a little boy. His son did not. His son was running, wrestling concerned about getting this or that, smashing bugs not observing them, not feeling for them. But his grandson had it. He was going to be a deep thinker, but now right now the poor boy was heart broken, scared. The grandfather knew what lay ahead of him. A life time of deep thought coupled with great emotion.

He kneeled down and looked the boy in the eyes. “It is good.” He said. “It is good that you think of these things. You are very young and you are already thinking very important thoughts.”

The boy was distraught. “Grandpa,” he said with more force “when will I die? When I’m a thousand, a hundred, gasp ten!” Then the boy grasped the old man’s face with both hands. “You!” he said “You must be 100.” The man couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Not quite 100 my boy but close.” He said with his eyes wide. Then he stood, his knees crackled, he laughed again and then walked to the chair. This made life so worth it he thought. You, they remind you of so many things.

He sat on the chair and motioned the boy to him. “Sit here” he said and patted the couch next to him. The boy did although he was still distraught. As soon as the boy’s bottom touched the couch he asked his face full of concern. “Will you die soon grandpa?” The man started to laugh but the look on the boys face told him not to do this.

He straightened out his face and looked at the boy searching for the words that would give him comfort but not stifle his thoughts. “We don’t know my son when we will die. If we are lucky we will live long healthy lives. But what we do know is that we are alive right now.”

The boy looked confused. “But..” He started.

The old man reached over and patted the boy’s leg. “You are a smart boy.” He told his grandson. “And most likely you will live to be a hundred and fifty.”

“What will happen when I’m a hundred and fifty?”

“You mean when you die? What will happen then?”

The boy nodded.

“This, my son, is a question I have been asking myself all my life, every since I was your age. I have some ideas. I’ve been reading for a very along time but I know nothing for certain. So the best thing I can tell you is to search for answers and don’t let anyone tell you that they know for certain because no one knows. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He looked into this grandson’s face.

The boy nodded. I think so.

“Ok.” The man smiled. “I have something for you. It may not mean much to you now but I hope some day it will.” The man pulled himself up from the couch and walked to the book shelf in the corner. He had bookshelves all over this house. This one reached the nine foot ceiling. The man had to stand on his toes to reach what he was looking for. He shimmied a book out from the shelf with his fingers. “This!” He said as he pulled down a hard back book with a worn green cover.

“This,” he said “was given to me by an old teacher and mentor of mine. Like I said it won’t mean much to you now but it is a wonderful book, stocked full of no nonsense information.” He handed the book to the boy.

The boy weighed the book in his two hands. It was heavy and felt important. “This,” the old man said as he tapped the book “will lead you on a wonderful journey and will help answer many of your questions and….inspire knew questions.” He said this last bit with a raise of his eye brows.

The boy loved this grandfather and felt very special that he was entrusted with such a grand book. He leafed through the pages and was surprised that here were so many pictures. Most often grownup books that he had seen were void of pictures but not this one.

The words were mostly meaningless there were a few he recognized. He was so excited when he found a chapter on bumblebees and immediately set out to learn how to read it. He read the book from cover to cover by the time he was 10. He learned about the stars and planets, and about cells and hearts. He felt like he knew everything and nothing. His grandfather was right this book would answer many questions but at the age of 10 he would have many more. This is the year his grandfather died.

Not all little boys are asked to grow up so fast but his one was. His dog and companion developed a cancer of the eye that quickly spread to his brain. The veterinarian as surprised by the questions the young boy asked and even gave him a book to help him understand what was going on better. The cancer took his friends life but left something with the boy. A change occurred. He was no longer innocent. He began to understand where feelings came from and that nothing nothing was magi. There was an explanation for every thing even if that explanation was not touchable.

A year after the dog passed away so did his grandfather. His death was not as gruesome and drawn out. He died in the night quietly surrounded by his books and a life time of memories.

During the wake the little boy sat in the corner watching. He watched the people who passed by giving their condolences and he watched his feelings. By now he had read enough to understand what chemicals were causing what reactions. It was like his body sat in the corner in his little black suit but he was able to look inside the synapses of the brain. He was able to observe the tear ducts that produced a single tear. He could feel and almost see the tear pool in the corner of his eye and then tumble down his cheek.

Most people at the wake thought or whispered behind the back of their hands “That poor boy he is drawing into himself. Some one must save him.” But the boy was brilliant. While his mother turned to pills to cope over the next several months he turned to knowledge. He read book after book until his innocence was completely lost.

From this point on every reaction he had in his body, every emotion, every arousal was seen as a chemical reaction, a hormonal response, or even a neurological response. Every mystery was explained through knowledge and any thing unanswered was definitely answerable, in some one’s life time any way.

He eventually became a doctor at the age of 22 he graduated from med school and instead of practicing medicine he decided he wanted to get a degree in physics. So many questions he mused. Now at the ripe old age of 27 he was sitting on a rock spying on a beautiful woman and questioning everything that he had ever learned.