There’s something about mountains.. they are established and enduring. They aren’t alive, not really, but I have a sort of friendship with them. Mountains are reliable; they take what life and environment throw at them, they recover and change over time, but they remain essentially what they always have been.
They are these towering masses of rock and dirt, providing shelter for all kinds of life because that’s what hey were made to be. Sometimes in that search for the ever elusive Meaning of Life we miss the Being, and in that lies what we are really searching for.
When I climb a mountain it’s just us, Being. Living and enjoying and existing. At that moment that’s all the purpose I need, to keep going, to be still within myself and rest with creation by Being.
A steady rythm, one-two one-two, sweet piney air, moving from sunlight to shade, and God.