The Space Station

Suddenly I am aware of my ability to be broken; what it is to have your bones break and muscles tear. The wind howls and accentuates the height from which I look down. I hear Dad's words echo in my head: "Never climb up what you cannot climb down." I should have listened to him. I am not that far up, only twenty-five feet or so. But numbers don't matter when your gut is in a knot the size of your miniscule mortality.

I have been climbing for twelve years and have never bothered with free-soloing (climbing without a rope). There was never a desire to be above the earth without the security of 10mm rope between you and the forces of Gravity. Yet, at the moment, Gravity is chuckling and tugging at my faith in climbing shoes, taunting me as pebbles trickle past me into the air.

Then from behind the wind comes the words of my little sister, whom is perched comfortably next to me. She tells me to only focus on my next move. Breathe.

My life, when looked upon from where I am, seems too big, too real, and entirely incomprehensible. There are too many choices just in front of me that could lead to pain or to a shattering of my existence as I know it. Am I looking too far ahead? Why do I feel that whatever I choose next will be my downfall?

Joshua Tree has always been a place of clarity for me. I come here expecting to feel refreshed and renewed. But as I look down at the granite below and picture my broken body in a bloody mess, I don't feel clear-minded.

I don't know where I shall go in life. By the Laws of Time I am projected forward into my future whether I make a choice or not. So...

I scoot forward, heels pushing my back into the rock behind me. I watch where my little sister (mountain goat that she is) places her feet, her hands. Tears make it difficult to see, but there is no going back now. The wind dies down like a gift of courage. My toes reach a ledge wide enough to stand on and I do: I stand. Relief washes over my face in hot little streams. My sister hugs me, confident and beautiful as always. Joshua Tree is still our home, not our deathbed.

What next? I am not ready to answer that question yet. I can say that I will make it through whatever comes at me; when I do make a choice I will live with the consequences. One day I truly will face my mortality and I will succumb to it: that day was not today.

blindfolds

If you can move

and feel

and be aware

and breathe

without opening your eyes

without worry

without deception

then you are coming along

just fine

slow-to-learn warrior

that I thought you were.

Picking Up Hitch-hikers

I had passed up a hitch hiker over the summer and felt ashamed ever since; here was my redemption.

He had a full beard, blue eyes, and a kind smile.

"Hey there! You can toss your pack in the back seat. Hop in!"

"Hey! Thanks! I'm Dan."

"I'm Kat."

The only reason I had been driving on the 101 North was because the 5 was jam-packed smog and tires and break-lights. At least the 101 had an ocean view.

Dan was from Pennsylvania, educated in New Jersey, and had hitched his way across the country. He had just started his most recent journey from Ocean Beach, from a friend's house. He was headed to San Francisco to visit other friends. Like many people I know, he had just finished college with a degree in Business. After college he had travelled to Australia to "find himself," but only managed to find that he liked to travel.

"Too many people feel tied down to their jobs and their homes. It's so cool that you are just out there, traveling," I said.

"I know. That is one of the most frequent things I've heard from people who pick me up; they wish that they could do what I am doing. I tell them that they can--it's just a matter of priorities."

It is encouraging to meet people like Dan. I am reminded that there are still very good people in this world who have not bought into the contrived social norms of the day. I am encouraged because Dan reminded me that I am not alone.

Heroes

Sometimes our heroes are people we've never met before. They come to a bouldering competition that you are working at and they limp up to you with a cane. You look down to see one ankle wrapped and the other foot adorned with a climbing shoe. He is smiling.

Sometimes heroes don't even know that they are heroes. The obstacles they are overcoming may be insignificant, or they might be mountainous. Whatever it may be, that person, and what and how they are fighting resonates with your soul.

Sometimes a downtrodden warrior will rise above the obstacle in his way; he might hobble up to the wall, take a deep breath, concentrate, jump, and then stick a dyno in front of a roaring crowd. He lands gracefully on his one good leg. He smiles; and I smile with him.

Rain in October

3:38am. It starts to rain; I always wake when it starts to rain in the night. My window is ever open so that I never miss such miracles.

Smiling, I think about how the wind changed today and how a small wisp of cloud told me to expect this weather. A young girl in my Oak cabin had run up to me today and said, "Mr. Jeff said that we might get some dry lightning tomorrow!" I had smiled and replied that Mr. Jeff (my internship supervisor) knew how to read the weather well; I had also noted the clouds and their meaning.

The rain continues. I close my eyes again and picture the girls in their cabin being lulled to sleep by the water. One girl turns on her flashlight: it's bright! *CRRRRBBOOOOOM* I can hear the thunder as it echoes from one end of this valley to the other.

Jeff was right about the lightning.

Adrenaline rushes in, opening my eyes in anticipation for the next flash. When it comes, it comes from behind my room (which faces West). The storm will be quick tonight.

It's 4:10am. Tomorrow the earth will smell sweet, the bird will sing with appreciation, and I will tell that girl, "See? Jeff was right... except for the 'dry' part!"

Coming back Autumn

Hot tea in my center.

Frigid air surrounds me like my thoughts;

Also cold. And changing.

Don't be silly. I'm happy with who I am.

My body could use a tune-up; without a doubt.

But I never doubted myself for a millisecond.

There are, however, long spells of wondering,

which make me wonder further.

How am I to live as I am meant to live?

Where is home, anyway?

Why is my jalepeño plant wilting?

Does he even bother to read these free insights into my thoughts?

Who cares? No--really--who cares?

Slow down.

I said that to myself as I drove up to Cuyamaca.

You never know what is around the corner.

I said that to myself just now;

I'm sitting here, at my desk, yet I'm still

moving forward.

The one time I don't have my camera

I lead my first group today and taught the SAMSPAW concept: there are seven natural resources on Earth; sun, air, minerals, soil, plants, animals, and water. The kids basically already knew this (but not all groups do).

We walked about in the mist and talked about how it feels to walk in a cloud.

Jeff, my supervisor, came along with me and made sure I didn't lose or mislead any children. He also helped me find my way around trails with which I am not yet familiar. On our way back to Camp I saw him step over a bright little flash of red, black, and yellow.

"A mountain king snake!"

Jeff turned and helped me keep the kids back as I caught the cutest, tiniest California mountain king snake I'd ever seen.

Thank you, Dad, for teaching me: "Red on yellow can kill a fellow. Red on black, you're okay, Jack!"

The kids got a treat in seeing such a rare (and adorable) specimen, and I got a treat by being able to see it, catch it, and talk to the kids about how awesome it is!