Thoughts from the Mountains-

            It seems, sometimes, that the mountains can speak.  Not in words, but rather in whispers of soft sweet sounds, whispers that you must listen closely to understand.  My mountains whisper soft comforts to my soul, and sometimes I listen to them.  It is not an easy thing to choose.  I wish I could say it was, but listening to the mountains is breathtakingly intimidating.  To listen to one that knows so much, to believe in the whispers from a source deeper than what could ever be described in the logic valued so highly by those of us who call ourselves thinkers, scholars, rational people (though that may be an oxymoron in itself). 

            Have you ever just listened to the mountains?  I’ve been living in their majesty for two months now, and sometimes still I am skeptical.  And yet, despite the logic I learned from so many of my teachers, I am beginning to understand the mountains.  They love so selflessly, standing there in all their splendor, daring us to…. To what?  For sure they are daring, one need not even understand the whispers to understand that the mountains are a dare to human kind, to all of us who try to make meaning out of this absurd and chaotic world, a dare to dream?  A dare to conquer?  A dare to live.  It is by choice that I wake up every day, look out my window, smile.  And yet, with the mountains daring me to live, what choice, really, do I have?

            I accept.  I surrender.  I acknowledge the beauty and the wonder and unexplainable whispers that resonate from the mountains to the depths of my soul.  I embrace the daily dare to live, to wonder with open arms and an open heart.  The dare to live.  To selflessly rise up, and breathe the whispers back to their source. 

            When the days are sunny and warm, I admit it is easier to listen.  The sun calls me from my hiding place behind the window, and beckons me outward.  “Come,” says the sun, and pulls me grudgingly away.  Some days, it seems too hard to follow.  Some days, I curl up in my empty bed, close my eyes to the world, and wish only for a few hours of bliss, ignoring the world outside.  When days are long and nights even longer, when stories enter the ears and make their way all the way down into my heart, when hugs hold me tight and lift me through what I never could alone, I pull the blankets over my head and pretend it is all going to be okay. 

            The sun, though, the sun does not need to pretend.  And the mountains know naught but truth. 

            Is this truth what makes the dare to live so compelling?  That the sun will never play pretend and the mountains continue to whisper, regardless of if I am listening or not?  The sun is shining, even if the clouds bring grey skies and snowstorms; the mountains whisper secrets free for the taking, and I, I want to know.  I want to listen; I want to learn of the selfless love whispered constantly through the trees, down the slopes of ageless rock, timeless secrets shared throughout eternity, forever ours. 

            I look sometimes, out across my mountains, and wonder if there is really a difference between what it means to live and what it takes to love.  This dare to live, with majestic and timeless creativity, is it not also a call to love boldly?  To love without expecting anything in return, just as the mountains live and love, selflessly.  Or is it more simple than that?  Is the dare to live, a call in itself, a whisper that cuts through the glass I try to hide behind, shattering what it is that holds me back- a view, boxed in on all sides, my reflection staring back at me, blocking what it is I long so much to see.  This dare shatters the box, shatters the preconceived notions of what I thought I could put myself, and my world, into.  A dare to live.  To step outside; to breathe; to listen.  To accept the wisdom of the mountains without judgment, without wishing it were any different than what it is.  To accept what is, here and now, in all its glory, in all its holiness. 

            It seems, sometimes, that the mountains can speak.  And I regret only that I do not listen more often. 

            I hope you can find something in this poetry.  It is times like this that I am convinced my words know more than I do.  Maybe this will hold meaning for you, for I still do not know how to make meaning out of all that I have written. 

Much love,

Bridget

reflections on people and love

Monday morning, and the living is beautiful.  For a few more days we’ll have fall weather here at 8,500ft, but I don’t want to think about that.  Because now is beautiful.  The sky is clear, the clouds float by, I got to sleep in, and when I woke up I had time to wake up slow, to rub the sleep out of my eyes and say a few mumbled “good-morning”s to my other housemates also (half-)awake.  It’s a beautiful morning.  And in a few hours I’ll go into work and we’ll drive to Denver International Airport and pick up 30 students, most of whom haven’t been out of California before, and more than likely haven’t seen snow ever.  Thursday’s snowstorm is going to be a shock.  It’s supposed to snow all weekend.  We’ve had a few inches accumulate before, but never anything that’s stayed for more than the day.  This might be the start of winter.  Soon.  But not now.

Now, the aspen trees have almost all dropped their leaves, and the pines continue to stand majestic.  The sun streams in through the windows, casting a yellow haze over us all inside, both blinding and comforting all of us here this morning, whatever it is we’re looking for.  The clouds float by, in what little blue I can see, high above the mountains.  The butterflies are playing tag, the flies wish for one more hour, and I’m just happy I have an extra hour this morning. 

When most of my thoughts were reflections on the world and on myself, it was easy to share them with you.  What is forgiveness?  How does the sunshine encourage me to live more selflessly?  How does the work I’m doing matter to the world?  It’s harder to write about people, about a life so intricately connected with those of you who are reading this that distance is harder to fake.  You, who are a daily part of my struggles and joys, how can I write about my life without calling you out, without admitting that my life is still tied tightly to yours, even though we’re now miles apart and I’m hiding behind a screen.  How to be honest, to you and to myself, if I only get to tell the story one time? 

For as much as I love writing, I hate words.  These words seem to fall short of what I mean to say; what is in my heart comes out distorted and superficial and it’s hard to confine the whisps of feelings and emotions into words on a page.  And yet, still I try, futile though I know it can be.  Sometimes I say what I want to say; sometimes I wish I could have found different words.  And still, I try.  Because I can’t not.  I have to try, have to do something, have to try to communicate the extent to which this whole thing matters.  And so, even though it’s easier to pretend that I can live this world on my own, that’s not the whole story.  I’ve written parts of that story, and now, the story continues. 

And so, people.  Because that’s what’s been on my heart most recently.  How much I love people; how, even when they confuse and frustrate me and move me to tears, I still love people so much.  I’m thankful for all the love they pour into me, how they comfort me when I’m sad, how they hold me when I cry ugly tears.  Since I’ve been out here in the mountains, my housemates have taken care of me more than I could ever have hoped.  In less than two months I’ve become closer to these people than I ever thought possible in that short of time.  My roommate is my favorite person in the world- she really gets me, and without her I don’t know how I would have gotten through these past two weeks.  She’s my rock. 

And she’s not the only one.  I love the people I work with (who, incidentally, are also the people I live with… go camp!).  Random chance has brought us all together, and quite frankly I probably wouldn’t be friends with many of them if I had just met them on the streets, but I think that’s part of what makes it so special.  The people I live with are the reason I wake up every day smiling, they’re why I want to go to work every day, why I don’t mind putting in long hours, because I know they are right next to me, will be right next to me, until the very end.  My co-workers and house-mates, they make sure I make it through every day, they take care of me, they love me deeply and show that love constantly.  I love you.

Thank you for endless games of True American; for taking care of me, and everyone; for letting us take care of you; for driving everyday; for helping me accomplish my goals, big and small; for just being there; for making me toast when I can’t move; for teaching me how to smoke Cubans; for hours upon hours sitting on the couch; for movies; for the record player and endless hours listening to records; for doing dishes; for letting me complain about it being cold (and then telling me to shut up and get used to it); for looking at stars and finding constellations; for late nights in the kitchen, sitting on the counters; for hot seat; for putting up with my endless list of camp games; for hugs, even when I’m unable to ask; for so much love.  Thank you for just being you.  I couldn’t do this job, couldn’t be the person I’m becoming without you.  I love you. 

And when life gets overwhelming here, and I get to missing home, I just have to check my phone, or my mailbox, or the back of my clipboard, to remember all the love that has carried me before, and still loves, even from a distance.  Hour-long phone calls with friends, playing phone tag with my family, cards in the mail that just say I love you, smiles and conversations shared about how much little things do matter.  We’re miles apart, but this space in my heart will always be yours.  And I love it.  I love that even though we don’t talk as often as we used to, when we do, it still feels like we’re close.  Sometimes this moving on thing sucks, but knowing that you’ll always be there for me, makes it just a little easier.  Thanks for loving me from afar, for still taking care of me in ways that only you can.  For sharing the little joys of a postcard, for letting me know I always have a place to stay when I visit (not if, when), for letting me know what’s happening in the lives of friends, and for being honest with me even when it’s hard.  Thank you for loving me in your own ways, for staying in touch, for just letting me know you’re there.  It’s hard moving on, but being able to continue to celebrate the love, celebrate that life is better because of rainy April morning, because of (not-so-)quiet time in the morning, because of saying yes to the unknown; this celebration continues, even from miles away. 

Life is better because you held my hand through the hard times, and I’ll never forget that.  I hope that you don’t either.  Even though I can’t hold your hand anymore, even though Sunday morning breakfast will never be the same, even though hot cocoa tastes different when it’s not shared with you on the basketball court under the stars, even though I’m no longer living in the room at the top of the stair, I hope that memories can sustain us until we can again.  When I can hold your hand, when Sunday brings breakfast after church, when the basketball court is ours again, when my head rests under your roof; it’ll happen.  I’ll celebrate that day with you, wrapped in your arms; and I’ll celebrate every day in-between for all that was and all that will be. 

I love people.  I can’t not.  Couldn’t choose it, even if love was an option.  On one of the hardest days of my life, I realized that I don’t get to choose who to love, or if I love.  I just get to love.  With my whole heart, through all the joys and sorrows and everything in between.  I just get to love, from my heart to yours, with love from the universe, from Brahman, from Baraka.  It’s liberating, to know that this love is nothing I’ve ever deserved, and so you don’t need to deserve it either; you, and I, we just get to receive and pass it on.  This love isn’t here because of anything we’ve ever done, or even because of who we are, it just is.  The sun kisses the earth as it finally finds a resting spot, the snow kisses the leaves as it continues to fall, the wind wraps its arms around all of us as it moves from one eternal embrace to another.  This love, thank you for sharing it with me, for helping to name it and claim it and celebrate the joy it brings. 

Some of my favorite lyrics say it best: “I will weep when you are weeping, when you laugh I’ll laugh with you; I will share your joys and sorrows, till we’ve seen this journey through.”  Not because of anything, just because we’re here, on this journey together.  Thank you for all the love.  Let’s continue to love from wherever; until we meet again.