Head in the clouds

It’s as if I’m sitting here, on this hill, gazing out across the rolling peaks & the valleys, watching the wind move towards me from the distance. I’m not sure where it originated, but suddenly it’s there, alive and breathing.

I can’t quite see it for what it is but I notice the birds afloat in its current, the way they’re lifted, and how the treetops ripple along closer and closer and closer to where I sit. Soon I hear the secret conversation; and then it is upon me, wrapped around me, filling my nostrils and my ears and pulling my skin away from my bones with both patience and fervor.

and then it is gone, drifting along the grass towards the next hill, leaving me in its wake, myself now a part of the extended conversation taking place here. even in its passing, somehow the wind is still very much with me, as much within as without. in the same way that I carry the echoes of those I have loved, long after they’re gone, long after even the idea of them has left me.

This, at least, is how I perceive time sometimes, the way I see myself coming together with the past and the future through this present moment. My attachment to the order of cause-and-effect is dissolving. and in the process I find myself experiencing things for the first time, as if they’ve already happened. Future becomes a memory waiting to be lived. Present experience feels like a dream; at once it’s as if I’m both the acorn and the oak. More than ever, I am learning to understand myself fundamentally as a process rather than an entity. and as my understanding grows, my need to understand withers.

Possibly the best campsite I’ve ever had, at least in terms of view.

I am in the clouds on the edge of the Pacific. Mist is rolling up and over the mountain, climbing, spilling over the ground upon which I rest. Every now and then the clouds break and I catch glimpse of the of the ocean below pushing up against the the cliffs.

On my way up from water’s edge I was at a loss for words. Breaking into the cloud, I felt so full. I don’t know how else to describe it— just full, complete. I think I said aloud “this is everything.” and it’s true. A perfect moment.

The next morning I stumbled upon a creek, and a nice trail which ran alongside it for about a mile before it began to grow over. I was not prepared for the world I was stepping into.

Trees tower all around me, of the most majestic stature. I can’t help but to give them my blessing and my thanks. The creek spills over itself endlessly from some unknown source. Lush and verdant, my nostrils fill with a potpourri of pine and musk.

The trail became hard to follow, so I rock hop up the creek instead. I find a different sort of perfection every ten feet. It’s amazing to think that the creek just runs, waterfall upon waterfall, humbly carrying on it its perfect way while so many of us humans go about worrying, producing, overthinking, and largely ignoring our nature. Our claims of ownership over this Earth are comically and tragically absurd.

I, a lone human animal, deep in the bosom of the wild, nothing but vitality all around— breeze and birdsong and creaking trees and the percussive thunder of water on rocks and smells which hit me from all directions, so wild and saturated with life, I am, experiencing myself as an integrated part of this whole. How easily we fool ourselves into thinking we stand as individuals. Our words, our categories and definitions are mere approximations, cannot possibly come close to describing the totality of this.

Later, I’m in a cloud again, this one much windier than last night. It is an ocean, again rushing up from the water below and swirling around me. Typically I’d be a little concerned, but it feels more cozy than anything: my tent secured down and flapping constantly in the breeze, hot chocolate in my thermos after a long run through the fog, my own solitude and the wilderness to keep me company. I’m exposed, but that’s ok. I chose this spot for a reason.

When I arrived earlier in the afternoon, I immediately loaded my running pack and set off, scouting alternative campsites, exploring every wandering trail, really just having a lot of fun. The fog pulled me into such profound presence, and each step became an adventure. I like how full and complete this moment is, how the wild brings me right into its depths.

Watching the wind and the mist roll over the mountain, strangely enough I saw myself. Somewhere in the fluidity of the breeze. The way it flowed so effortlessly, shapeshifting, ebbing and flowing in rhythm, carrying moisture to the trees where it found form for a moment, coalescing into droplets on a needle before falling back to earth, finding roots and river alike. Again the unity of these apparently separate parts astounds me and I am left, simply, as is.

I feel I have been rigid- too rigid- lately, in unexpected ways. At times I am the oak, at times I am the ocean, and recently I’ve felt the breeze rise up within me. I’ve resisted it. I grow attached to stability. I am nature in all of these forms, embodied, and who am I to know better? I don’t want to resist; I want to trust. When I must be rooted, may I be rooted; and when the winds blow within me may I become the wind.

This morning the clouds broke and I caught a nice ocean view just past sunrise. When I awoke the mist was thicker and wetter than when I fell asleep; even so, I rose and walked out, both into and through it, my vision obscured save for a few feet around me, only and briefly discerning scattered silhouettes of rocks and trees. I came upon one of these clusters, which provided rare and immediate shelter from the elements. The name “Salvation Rock” popped into mind and, to be honest, I wish I had time to think of a clever or more original name, but that’s the one that came, so that’s the name I used. It almost felt like this is why the rock was there, to provide refuge to any wandering animals caught in the elements.

I felt like taking a portrait of Salvation Rock, so I stepped back and lifted my camera to my eye, adjusted my exposure and

when I looked up from the camera, I suddenly saw ocean in the distance. All at once the world in which I’d blindly roamed for the past 18 hours become illuminated. The landscape was made all the more stunning by the revelation. About 30 minutes later the fog once again rolled through to obscure the view.

A road I spotted on the neighboring hillside called my name. I did not want to leave, but I broke down camp before the moisture came, made some coffee, said a prayer and went on my way.

The forest arrived quickly and suddenly I found myself immersed in it; what was just loose rock and gravel now became soft moist dirt covered in pine straw. The temperature dropped at least ten degrees. A creek trickled nearby. I pulled over and geared up.

It was about five miles down to the creek and I was on a mission to get water. This is why I train, why I stay in shape, why I’m so grateful for my health and my body. Running through the woods to collect water from a creek in the mountains, foraging wild thimbleberries along the way…it feels so good. Not running for time, nor distance, not for competition, but for real and essential purpose. Running on trails so good that I don’t want to record my route on Strava. Songs emanating from me that I didn’t know I held within. Smiling in ways I haven’t smiled in a while.

The next couple of hours unfolded like a dream, exploring another lush world down to the creek, rock hopping, wading through poison oak, in conversation with the world I was quickly melting into.

Eventually I came to another amazing swimming hole, clear water up to my shoulders, surrounded by tall rock such that it felt like a private world amidst a private world, waterfalls flowing all around, sunlight scattered through the trees while a cool breeze swam down stream from somewhere up above. I give my thanks and dive in.

I am, a part, of everything.