Summit's Path

I sat on a rock. It was not to be. I wanted so to return to the summit one more time before winter set in. I was as far as I could go. Sitting I remembered the view, standing on a boulder and my heart became breathless again.  And in my breathless joyful wonder the thread whispered, that the summit was still there. Because I did not arrive today, I still could remember, its essence had not changed.  A second thread quickly chimed that even if I had never seen the summit, its essence would still be there.  Suddenly an eagle screeched, and my body shivered to hear the sound again. This time the eagle was unseen. 

The mind would construct a world that says what cannot be seen, attained, touched or proven does not exist, or at the least, not for “me” – others perhaps.  Because we cannot reach the summit, it isn’t real or at least not for “me.”  The mind would even say the summit is off limits, frivolous, so many other important things to do, and yet it stands with foot worn path in plain view.

As I walked back I met a young couple who cheerfully said “Isn’t it amazing!” We shared a pause to gaze around and the young woman asked “Is it hard to reach?” I confess a laugh and a face size smile, “Not at all! Follow the path and listen for the eagle’s screech.”  Their faces lit up like kids at Christmas and we walked together going our separate ways.

The mind may construct but the Heart knows the Essence.  Our choice whether to follow the path and listen for the eagle’s screech or convince ourselves the summit doesn’t exist.

Shadow Thread

The morning sun painted a whisper, 'Look and tell me what you see.'  My mind told my eyes a mountain they saw, just like the mountain in the photograph above.  My eyes whispered back, 'no, both are flat, touch them and you can see.'  My little mind sighed.

The mind can create realities from shadows, seeing textures and towering mountains where there is only a flat painted wall.  It is not wrong, bad, or even misguided. She simply reflects and causes shadows to come to life, calling them real, as they cast their image on an painted wall.

The sky is now blue, the sun has moved on and there is naught but the wall.  But I find my eyes still turning my head to the space where mountains were framed in a walled window of light.  I had a thought, a thread, when I began, but like the shadowed mountains, it has gone. I am simple and not so wise.  I only know no matter what the eyes, mine or others, think they see, no matter what the mind creates from the vision of eyes, no matter all else, the truth within, the whisper of Life, knows the touch of the mountain was real.