Jesse has given me a final curse; the fear of losing those I love.

I have always prided myself in not being afraid of anything, not even death. But now I openly admit that I am terrified of death--as something that can steal any of my beloved.

So when I climb up into the sky with Jacob, all I can think of is him falling, hitting the ground... and me, left behind, irrevocably damaged.

My worst fear is being left alone, behind, in a void of my loved ones.

Jesse gave me fear. How am I to combat this? Just this week two people from an earlier stage of my life died. Death will always be in front of us: mocking, beckoning.

I used to think I could fight anything. Draw my sword, roar, charge, and take it down. Now I find as I have grown older I have come to the realization that you cannot fight death. And it makes me feel weak. And exposed. And unprotected. Just the way I can feel up on a wall.

There is something about defying gravity and logic that made climbing so much fun for me. Here I am, high above the ground, where a human should not be. We were not meant to climb like a lizard, like a bug. We have two feet meant to walk on flat ground. Yet, here I am! Using man-made tools that prevent me from what should happen--a fall. This used to be hilarious, thrilling, and fulfilling.

 There is a problem now; I realize that there will now always be an inevitable fall. So in all my smiles, laughter, and certainty, there is a hint of solemnity.

Yes, this is all fun and games now, but we will all eventually die. Life is full of heartache, trials, and pain, and then we will have those we love taken away from us, one by one. Just as we, I, me, will eventually be pulled away from those who love me.

 Life is a shoving of people together, just long enough for them to form a bond, a stitching of flesh to flesh, spirit to spirit: then it is a tearing, a ripping of those bonds as Life veers to Death.

Give and take. Breathe in, breathe out.

 I am not a child anymore.

Furthering Finality

You're missing out
on possibilities
on shooting stars
falling into the oceans
of all of our tears.
Weakness or strength?
Which gave you the right
to take and break that
which wasn't yours?

I rage
because of you
your actions
they way you shunned
ignored
refused
all of our love.
Not just mine.
They way you threw
it all away on a limb
--on a whim.

You're not here
so you can't listen
to my yelling at you
at all of us screaming
at you.
Wish you could have
heard this
before you chose
to leave.
I bet we could have
convinced you
to stay.

Jesse

Falling. Reeling.
The loss
yawning void that you left for us
for us to lurch into gets
deep
er.roar in your bottle-corked feelings
that you refused to share
that caused us to yell
screaming
NO! NO! NO!
It’s not true!
It’s not real!
But unreality was your specialty.
Cruel in the way you chose
to leave this world
leave yourself in front of the morgue
we used to jest about our silent neighbors.
Now you are one of them.
Them:
The kind that do not return.
You are there with your mother. With Matt Hopper.
But you’re also here. You stand in my dreams
with your hands in your pockets
with your feet in your Berkinstocks
with a sad smirk on your face
that resembles an apology.
But your dream-sorries are ripped from me
as my alarm goes off --wake
--and I remember that you are still gone.
Your curiosity, perhaps?
Your last FU, world!
Your last run-in with unrequited love?
You, the black bird.
Do you know what you have done?
Was this a social experiment gone wrong?
Remember when you used to go to class in a suit
just to see what people would say to you?
Treat you differently? Reactions.
Take notes.
We loved you.
We all did.
You’ve left a Jesse-shaped hole in our hearts.

I watch the sun rise above clouds of blood red gold liquid...
I find no reason in my heart for leaving this beautiful world.
I feel the air in my lungs, feel the warmth of the sun as it graces my skin,
hear the birds begin their morning songs, praising the day.
But this isn't about me. Not anymore.
Why would you leave all this? All of us?

I see your pictures. I read your words.
I will you to come alive.
To undo what you have done.
But you have chosen to go.
I do not speak for just myself,
but for everyone who loved you (still loves you):
we will never let you go.

dreamer

I want to scream.

Yell.

Curse.

For getting my hopes up yet again.

Needless to say, I did not get the job at Camp Cuyamaca.

I was meant to impart a love for nature to young folk

And to enable them to find Nature to be a mirror in which they can see the best of themselves.

I am an educator: whether it is teaching the joy of literature or a deep appreciation of the outdoors, I should be teaching someone, somewhere, these things.

When will I be able to do what I was meant to do?

Until I find a place that will take me in and see my worth as a teacher, I am moving to Joshua Tree. Starting this Monday I will be full-time at the Nomad Ventures there.

My optimism still works: I will be moving in with Jacob! Climbing! Joshua Tree!!

....but no Camp Cuyamaca.

Jacob

I love that you can ride waves to shore

The white roaring mass moving you

To whoop and holler and that dashing smile

Your hair stuck up on one side

You jog slow-motion through the breakers

To me, waist-deep in the strong current

You high-five me and eyes shine bright

Like a child. If I have faith in anything

It is in the joy that we share here together.

Morning in August

I finally drifted off to sleep last night, heavy with the need for rest. This did not last long. I woke to trilling, screeching, purring raccoon kits playing: little balls of fur tackling and rolling about just outside my window. A smile found my sleepy face. How could I be mad at such cute critters? But after a few minutes I knocked on my window and kindly asked, "Hey, guys? Could you keep it down?" They scampered further off, creating a muted ruckus further down the yard.

Next I know Mom is prefacing the question of whether or not I'd like some coffee with, "I know this is a dumb question, but..."

Roll from bed. Coffee. Sugar. Too much sugar. Add more coffee. 7am? Enough time to sit back and read Climbing magazine. Find a bit of motivation. Sip on bean juice. Wait--is it trash day? I've been waiting to clean out the fridge for two weeks. Pause... clean... gross... okay, done.

As I read a randomly pulled back issue I think about how little I have climbed. I do consider myself a climber, though not a very good one. My grip strength is improving; I am getting myself out on some easy leads (both trad and sport); I've been reading John Long's Anchor books; talking rock with Jacob; and finally been dreaming about more vertical granite than I can shake a stick at. I'm a climber at heart and am slowly following in action.

My Honda Civic died. The clutch gave out and I sold it all in one day. My savings plus the few measly bucks I milked from the car sale is not enough for a down payment on a new or even a certified used car. So I rock the Momobile CRV (thanks, Mom!). Wait. Save. Search. Buy?

I've had my teaching credential for just over one year now. I have just four years left to find a job in the classroom. I still want to teach. One day, I will.

dwell

It is late.

I am always doing this;

waking with the sun,

staying up with the moon.

The water rushing outside

my window is not the

Tuolumne River.

I pull out my sleeping bag

and pretend

that I am Out still

beneath the approving stars.