I climbed to the top of the mountain, because I heard the mountain calling for me.
I went to the top of the mountain to connect with my strength again. In Peru, the Shaman had told me that the spirits of the mountains were speaking to me and so I went to the top of the mountain to listen.
I longed for the strength and the knowledge that comes with the weathering of the forces of nature that slowly wear away the mountain, and eventually every other creature on the surface of this earth.
As I was making my way up the steep terrain in the fog and mist I was asking to be blessed with the love of the spirit of the mountain, asking that my pain be absolved by the wisdom larger than the capacity of what I comprehend and hold for myself.
I had ascended about a 1000 meters when I stopped and took the earbuds out of my ears to listen to the waterfall on the side of the trail. I listened to the falling water and prayed for cleansing of the spiraling thoughts from my mind's voice. Standing there under a pine tree, I saw landing beads of icy rain. The sky began to pelt little fistfuls of ice. I say to myself, Oh, God! I wasn't prepared for hail.
I wasn't prepared for wrath and rage, I was hoping for a soothing caress.
And as I stood on the edge of the waterfall, still a 1000 meters to go and a 1000 meters rise in elevation already summited, violent hail began to fall.
The heavens opened up and threw fistfuls of cold icy rage on my bare skinned face and naked hands.
These little pieces of stinging ice were hailing down and anger was raging from inside me.
There's no other way to describe, oh how I set out to seek the love of the mountain, to be embraced in the kindness of nature, and I'm standing at the waterfall listening to the water pour from the ground.... and then violent rage.
And I laugh a little inside, my inside voice says "Oh shit sister, You're not going to give me the gentle, are you?"
You're going to spit piss and rage at me. And I'm going to keep climbing the mountain.
I'm not turning back.
I'd love to sing that cliche to you about no turning back, but truthfully, this is just about a physical realtity now. I set out to climb the mountain, to find absolution, and I'm going to keep climbing.
At the top, there is nothingness.
A dozen rose petals stuffed in my jacket pockets.